


"Maybe this Hamburg thing was a bad idea, John?"

by SgtPeppersBitch



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: George Harrison's virginity is in danger, George is sick of being the baby, Hamburg Era, Horny Teenagers, Idek wtf I'm going to do with Stu or Pete I'll be honest, John can be a bully, M/M, Ringo is mysterious stranger I think we all know that, all of them are bourderline alcoholics I'm sorry, not my first fanfiction I've ever written just the first I'm actually posting, okay onward to the cringe, paul is trying his best, this is my first story of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtPeppersBitch/pseuds/SgtPeppersBitch
Summary: *Keep in mind this is based on actual historical events. Yet some aspects may not actually be 100% accurate. Do not treat this like I'm trying to suggest that this is exactly how these events occured. I know I probably got alot of it wrong, If you have any Beatles fun facts feel free to let me know*When all of your friends, including yourself, is a college drop out. All jobless. And as of right now, have absolutely no plan for their life. You need someone as ambitious as John Lennon to take you on an insane journey. Paul McCartney and George Harrison doesn't know what's in store for them. And neither do Stuart Sutcliffe or Pete Best. With non-stop drinks, there's no telling what could happen. Especially when Paul and John begin to experience strange tention between them. And a mysterious stranger has planted a seed in George's mind, that simply won't stop growing. And all this happens within the first week, God help them with the remainding 2 months.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 52
Kudos: 89





	1. John Lennon is crazy. That's why we like him.

“What?”  
Was all Paul could say when John first told him of his insane plan for fame. Sitting in John’s apartment, half of a bottle of whiskey gone down both of their throats.  
“Hamburg! I’ve bought all the band tickets to Hamburg, leaves this Sunday! Listen, Paul!”  
The atmosphere in the room quickly shifted. Paul didn’t understand.  
“Well what’s in Hamburg? Why did you buy tickets?”  
Paul asked, calmly. John scratched the back of his neck and looked to the ground.  
“Hamburg’s a good start to upcoming bands. Lots of bars and pubs to play at there. Got us a job performing every night at a hotel, starting Tuesday of next week. For about 2 months.”  
Paul’s chest felt cramped with all of the emotion welling up his throat, clenching his jaw tight. His mind went dizzy, partially due to the belly full of whiskey. It had almost been a year since school had ended, and none of them had really done as well in college as they thought they would. John willingly dropped out to focus fully on ‘his’ band. Stuart was living by selling art, like everyone knew he was going to do for a living since grade school. Pete couldn’t go to class to save his life. Paul only focused on writing music. And George was just now finishing high school. All of them didn’t know what the hell they were doing, and strangely they didn’t mind whatsoever.  
“Don’t just sit there with that mouth of yours wide open like that, are you coming with me Paul?”  
John finally asked him. Paul's mouth closed, taking everything in. Instinctively Paul took a long drink, coughing after a few big gulps. It burned, but Paul needed it. John giggled, and patted his back to help with the coughing.  
“What’s the catch?”  
Paul inquired. John thought for a moment,  
“Well. We'll live in a little space. Half the size of this place I’m in here. But, the hotel we’re performing at, gives us free booze and table scraps are ours.”  
Paul burst out laughing at John’s one of a kind humor.  
“Living off beer and table scraps sound like a good living to you, Lennon?”  
John tipped his head to Paul with a quick swig of the bottle.  
“Better than whatever we’re doing here. Here you either die a business man or a bum, I want something different. Hamburg’s different.”  
Paul rested his head against the off-white wall, looking over to his insane best mate. John’s eye’s screamed ambition, and his spirit leaked of hope. He could convince Paul to do anything. The stupidest things always came from John Winston Lennon’s head. And Paul had the most fun since he met John.  
“You could convince me to do anything, John.”  
Paul giggled mostly to himself, but John still heard him. It made John smile, but he looked down to hide it. Paul began to swear under his breath,  
“Christs sake, John. Can't believe you dragged me into this.”  
Paul couldn’t even fake anger or disappointment. His face was flushed with intoxication and body heat, sitting so close to John. And the stupid grin on his face made John’s heart skip a beat. They both felt the same tingly feeling in the pits of their stomach. Almost made them terrified. Or made their heart beat so fast they could run around the block five times. But they stayed next to each other. Smiling and laughing, maybe even shaking with adrenaline. No more Liverpool, the place they’ve hated for years.  
“Think of it, Paulie! No one will know us. A whole country just for our own enjoyment. No rules we can’t break, and no lady we can’t take. Endless booze. This is like a dream isn’t it?!”  
Paul agreed with an eager eye, matching John’s excitement.  
“All thanks' to you, Johnny boy.”


	2. Week 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the cringe begins

Hamburg was as grotty as everyone expected, and they all loved it. They were about a week into their move to Hamburg. They only had 2 beds and a couch between the 5 of them. 1 sink. John came up with the idea of switching who gets the couch on their own every night. And who gets to share beds with who. John began to tell who got what sleeping place that night, raising his voice a bit to be heard over George’s guitar strumming. They, after being together for well over 2 weeks had gotten used to it. George just never seemed to stop playing.   
“Tonight, I get the couch. Paul and George sleep together. And Pete and Stu, you’re bunking together too.”   
The group groaned, and Stuart spoke up from the chair in the corner of the small room.   
“John, it’s the third night you’re getting the couch. Let someone else have it.”   
John’s eyes squinted, trying to read his book without his glasses. Without giving much thought he said   
“Have I had the couch 3 times?”   
George stopped his strumming,   
“Yea, Paul said he doesn’t want ta sleep in the bed with me any more too, says I suffocate him.”   
He said, and promptly went back to strumming. John finally looked up at that, and started chuckling.   
“Paul, that true?”   
Paul, crumpling a piece of paper from his poem notebook, started laughing with John.   
“I wake up and he’s hugging me like I’m a bloody stuffed bear! Make Pete sleep with him or something.”   
The four of them laughed while their drummer was gone.   
“Wow, I’m sitting right here Paul.”   
George joked. John, with a frustrated huff, threw down his book. He'd lost his glasses in their small room of an apartment. Two beds stacked next to each other took up most of the room. That and the infamous couch they won’t shut up about. If anyone could lose a pair of glasses in such a small amount of space, it was John Lennon.   
“Not his fault you hug in ya sleep, baby Georgie.”   
John teased. George rolled his eyes. His skin crawled after enduring endless “he’s the youngest” jokes. From all of them.   
“Shut yer trap, Lennon. I’m just three years younger than you.”   
Paul and Stuart looked at George, eyes wide. No one talked to John like that. Well, John never let anyone get away with it. John just chuckled, actually impressed George stood up to him. “What’s wrong George? I’m only jesting with ya.”   
John lied, knowing well what he was doing. George, actually looking up from his guitar, felt a bit nervous. But he always stayed a calm and collected George Harrison.   
“I didn’t mean no anger from it. Just...”   
George tapered off, looking for the right words. John leaned closer, waiting for an answer. Just to finish George’s sentence for him,   
“You a man, Harrison?”   
John asked. He was quite a bit older than George. Being just turned 20, George was still hardly 17. It was just in John’s nature to give George a hard time. Thicken up the quiet lad's skin. John smirked when he saw George’s hand tighten against the neck on his guitar.   
“Something about you just screams virgin, mate.”   
John let slip out, shutting his mouth tight after hearing it.   
“John that’s enough.”   
Stuart complained. Paul shook his head in agreement. George’s face went a bright red, basically letting everyone know John was right in his assumptions. John saw George’s knuckles go white from the tight hand around his poor guitar.   
“Get mad, George. But take it out on me, not the guitar.”   
John recommended. Putting the instrument down, everyone thought George was going to knock John a ripe good one right on the jaw. But instead George just lit a cigarette. Smoke poured out of his mouth, letting the next words drip from his lips   
“John. We're livin’ in a room the size of a storage closet. We gotta stay happy with each other or this whole trip was just for waste.”   
George stated. Everyone was always surprised with how wise George could be. Being the youngest, he acted like the most mature and smart out of all of them.   
“John, how come a 17-year-old lad can out-mature you?”   
Paul asked. John held out a hand to get a puff from George’s cancer stick, and George kindly handed it to him.   
“New sleeping arrangements. Because I've given ‘em a hard time, George gets the couch tonight. Stu and Pete bunk together. Me n’ Paul, together too.”   
They all shook heads, agreeing finally.   
Later in the night, Pete came back with as much hotel booze his arms could carry. So much so, everyone got their own bottle.   
It’s a true mystery how the hotel staff didn’t get complaints from the loud drunken singing, and screams. Pete was banging his drum sticks on the couch cushion, hardly in beat at all. John and Paul were slurring trying to sing along. Stuart was long passed out, and George was laughing along with Paul.   
“Pete, ya can hardly play sober. What makes you think you can do it now?”   
John giggled; his face flushed from the drink. George and Paul sat on one of the beds, the other being occupied by a blacked-out Stuart. Pete and John were on the couch.   
“I don’t see any other drummers lining up for ya shit band, Johnny.”   
Pete joked. They all knew Pete wasn’t the best drummer, even Pete did. They all joked and made fun of him whenever they had a chance. Pete never was too sensitive though, that’s why he fit in so well around them. They were celebrating in a way, it being Friday. They had weekends off from playing. A different band played weekends, “Rory Storm and the Hurricanes.” John originally wanted them to even play weekends, being pissed about the second band. But they all soon agreed that having at least two days off a week would be good for their health. ‘We’re not slacking those days, boys. We ‘re practicing’ John declared.   
So, they were all excited to have two free days to finally explore Hamburg. After a few more hours, Pete finally passed out. Leaving the three-future Beatles alone together.   
“I’m proud of ya Georgie boy, able to handle bein’ this boozed up and not pass out.”   
John praised, settling a friendly hand on the youngest’s shoulder. George was so drunk all he could do was shake his head, and laugh. Things were settling down, and the air got muggy. Paul was leaning against John to keep from falling over.   
“Aye, Johnny?”   
He asked. John looked to his side, to Paul.   
“Hm?”   
John replied. Paul, while chuckling, continued.   
“Why’d you call George a virgin? No one here is a virgin, mate.”   
Paul wondered. George choked while taking another drink, still remaining silent. John noticed, which Paul didn’t. And being John Lennon, he jumped right on it.   
“Are we sure George has had a woman?”   
John asked Paul, knowing George was listening. Paul sat his head up,   
“Well of course he has, we’re all men.”   
Paul muttered, barely audible. John's bloodshot eyes darted to George, who was giggling into his own arms. George was not in of right mind to even comprehend John was up to one of his plans. John smiled along with him,   
“He can’t even make a straight face, can he? Getting all giggly over even the topic.”   
John pointed out, showing even when shit-faced. He was blade-like wit. Paul’s eyes went to George, concentrating on the boy's nervous grin plastered onto his lips. Paul nodded along with John, understanding the situation. So, John continued,   
“George, talk to us mate. You ever been with a bird?”   
George shook his head, finally even saying anything   
“Paul, why’d ya have to bring it up?”   
He groaned, drinking even more to keep himself distracted. He really didn’t feel like talking about how he was a virgin. Or even how he’s never kissed a bird. He had never seeked it out at home, so he never got any chance. Paul snatched the bottle from George’s hands,   
“No more for you unless you start spilling, Harrison.”   
He said. George tried to grab it back, but John swiftly stopped him. They all laughed, trying to be quiet enough to not wake up the other two who were sleeping. George sat back; head filled with tention. And as sad as it was, John was right. Even the topic left him giggly and excited. Especially when he can’t control his emotions, such as right now. It left him excited in more ways than one, so he clenched his legs shamefully together.   
“I don’t want to discuss this with the lot of you fools.”   
Was all George could manage to choke out. John cocked an eyebrow, and took a drink out of George’s bottle.   
“More for us then, Georgie boy.”   
He threatened. George puckered his bottom lip out and reached for the bottle longingly. John refused, so George finally crumbled.   
“What do ya want me to say? I’m a virgin, there. Now can I have my bottle back?”   
John complied, handing it over to the boy. Paul scoffed,   
“Was that so hard, George? We’re your friends, we can help you.”   
He said. George downed a few long gulps from the bottle, getting up from his spot.   
“I don’t understand why you’ve got to. I’m going to take a piss.”   
George muttered, leaving the two alone. John just started laughing,   
“I knew it, he’s too innocent to get a bird.”   
Paul looked at John, cheeks like two ripe cherries.   
“Why are you so concerned with George’s sex life? Thing’s going slow in yours, Johnny?”   
John grinned and pinched Paul’s left cheek. Paul chuckled, leaning into his hand a bit after trying to sit up on his own.   
“Somebody’s had enough, haven’t they Paulie?”   
Paul shook his head no, and went to get the last little bit in his own bottle. John got it, and held it up out of reach. Paul instinctively started to crawl in order to get it back. John’s arm went higher, forcing Paul to crawl into his lap. They just continued laughing, not noticing how their bodies got intertwined. Paul stumbled even further, soon reaching John’s face. John dropped the bottle, and put both hands on either side of Paul’s hips, trying to push him off through quiet giggles. In doing so, John pushed Paul to where his legs were straddling him. Instead of continuing to laugh, Paul's breath hitched. Feeling the closeness of his best friend, on the mattress they were sharing that night. John heard Paul’s breath, and stopped his giggling. They looked at the situation they got themselves into, John’s hands still on his thighs. Then they looked into each other’s eyes. Somehow out of breath, Paul rested his head on John’s. Both were too afraid to speak, taking in each other’s pants and jittery gasps for air. Mouth’s so close they felt it on each other's lips, but they continued to catch their breath in the strange yet comfortable position. Johns mind felt hazy, feeling an intense heat coming from Paul’s forehead on his. It made his face flush.. Or maybe it was his grip on Paul’s soft thighs that he just couldn’t seem to let go of. Paul took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. His mouth went agape and his head fell to the nape of John’s neck. John felt shivers form down his back when Paul took an even deeper breath than before. He gasped, finally moving his hands to pull Paul closer without even thinking.   
“My God John, you smell so good.”   
Paul said, and John bit his lip because he almost sounded like he was going to moan after that sentence. John shook his head no, wanting to stop. Or at least he thought he wanted to stop. This was wrong. They were taught that this was wrong. He couldn’t open his mouth; his jaw was clenched to tight. He was terrified what would happen if he tried to speak, or what would come out. Instead he focused on what Paul was doing, feeling his hands make their way to his auburn hair. John cursed when he actually felt himself lean into Paul’s touch. Intoxication making it hard to even consider saying no. Paul loved John’s hands on his body, and begged to have him touch even more of it. He didn’t even know why.   
Paul sat up to look at John, finding his face so hot he looked to the brink of sweating. John saw Paul was heavy lidded, eyelashes casting a subtle shadow along his flushed cheeks. He was so beautiful. They made his mind turn into mush, and he shut his own eyes tight. He couldn’t look at Paul that way, he couldn’t feel these feelings for him.   
“John?”   
Paul said. John shook his head no, moving his hands finally from Paul’s sides.   
“John, are you alright?”   
Paul asked. John opened his eyes again, but didn’t look at Paul’s face. Instead he looked down, which in hindsight he wishes he hadn’t of done. Paul’s curvy thighs still wrapped around him, looking just like a bird in form fitted jeans. But it was better somehow, something was different. It took John a long time to notice the only thing that made this different from any bird. He felt Paul’s cock right against his, through worn out denim jeans. And to answers Paul’s question, he was okay. But in the worst possible of ways.   
“Too much, Paul.”   
He breathed out, trying to wiggle out of Paul’s stimulating grip. Paul panicked, quickly moving off of his lap. Forgetting how he melted into John’s touch. They looked at each other, Paul now being on the opposite side of the bed. Both of their chest’s heaving up in down, John glazed with a layer of sweat. Paul tightened his fists in his lap when he felt himself grow even more aroused at the sight of Lennon so embarrassed and.. God he was swollen   
“John...”   
Paul moaned; eyes glued to the growth in his friend's jeans. He wanted to crawl right back on his lap, amazed with the size of it. John got up,   
“George has been gone for 15 minutes; I’m going to get him.”   
He said, ignoring Paul’s incredibly sexy voice. Although he really didn’t want to. But it wouldn’t be the first time John Lennon ignored how he really felt, and most certainly won’t be the last. Paul watched him walk out the door, and gave a deep sigh. His mind still plagued from smutty images of his best mate. Paul didn’t know what just happened, or why. But he looked down to his own bulge in his pants, palming it a bit. He didn’t know what to do, they would be back any moment and it wasn’t going away.


	3. "What happens in Hamburg, stays in Hamburg."

John pushed everything to the back of his mind, making his way through the hotel. The bathroom wasn’t that far from the room they were staying at, so he knew George was up to something. Stumbling into the room, John found George passed out against the wall, right beside the urinal. Pants halfway down his thighs, and underwear bunched up over him. John shook his head, scoffing. He took a few steps over to him, snapping his fingers.   
“On your feet, Harrison. You best be glad it’s 4 in the morning so no one walked in on you like this.”   
John watched George’s eyes slowly open, not making any effort to move yet. He looks up at his friend.   
“Johnny?”   
He mumbled. He went to get up, but his hands slipped on the slick ground. His head hit the hard-white tile, and John held out his hand for his drunk friend. George took it, and John heaved him up.   
“What happened, son?”   
John asked. George’s face was painfully red, he almost looked like he would be sick. He stumbled trying to gain his balance, finding it just as difficult to find his words,   
“I walked in; An I saw the pretty room service bird on the way here. You know the one you said had a nice arse. She- she smiled at me and I couldn’t help it-...”   
He trailed off, noticing that all the alcohol was hitting him harder and more intense than before. He has defiantly overshared. And John, mind already thrown in the gutter for the night knew exactly where this was going. George’s pants were still bunched up at his thighs. Poor thing, even talking about sex with his friends made him helpless. Can’t even handle a smile from a pretty girl. John laughed,   
“Pull your pants up son, I don’t want to see that.”   
John said, it only being half true. He was so horny himself, any form of sexual shit at the point made his cock throb harder in his pants. George hurriedly pulled his pants up, looking down in shame. John observed, smiling at the display. George could hardly zip it up, having trouble with how unbearably tight they were.   
“Look at you Georgie, embarrassing yourself. All because she smiled at you, aye?”   
John taunted. George leaned back on the cold wall, still fumbling with his trousers. John watched, his pants getting pretty tight as well. Something about George was just adorable, everyone in the band had to agree. Such a thin and frail boy he was, hair always styled just right. Botton eyelashes framing his face just perfectly. John wiped his face, finally looking away. He was ashamed in himself, looking at such a young boy in the state he’s in.   
“The way she looked at me, Johnny. Her eyes. Rolling her little tray of food down the hallway. Fuck-”   
George finally stopped trying, palming it through his underwear. John then looked back; hearing his voice turn desperate.   
“Her legs, why do they make those uniforms so fucking short?”   
John pulled George’s arm up, forcing him to stop. George expected him to slap him in the face, or something along those lines. Instead, John zipped up his pants for him.   
“Come on back to the room.”   
Was all he said. John decided that everyone was in the need of a good wank session. He would fill George in back at the room. George was terrified. And while they walked down the long hallway his mind raced. Did more teasing await him? Was John going to tell Paul how hopeless he was? George followed behind him, keeping his eyes on the ground. He heard more footsteps reaching them. George glanced up, finding the same pair of sexy legs that was making his mind go mad. The young lady was certainly beautiful. Blonde hair curled to one side, and perky breasts bulging out of her button up, golden necklace framing her neck. Both boys had a good view as she leaned over to push the cart down the hall, now empty from all the food.   
“You boys still up?”   
She asked, heeled feet slowing down to hear a response. John put his hands in his leather jackets pockets.   
“Only way to see the pretty night owls like you.”   
He winked, followed by a giggle and blushed cheeks from the mystery lady. George pulled up his collar, hiding his own rosy cheeks. As she passed them, they both snuck a glance at the swaying hips she had hidden in the skin tight navy blue skirt. With that they practically ran the way back to their room. John barged in first, seeing Paul pull up the covers over his legs. Everyone was drunk and horny.   
“Alright boys, how about we take care of our aching cocks and pass the fuck out.”   
Paul let out a relieved sigh, watching John tip toe around the sleeping bandmates in the bed next to them. George was a pretty new member in the band. And he wasn’t completely caught up to speed with a lot of what they do together. John sat next to Paul, who was even drunker than before. Having finished the rest of his drink. Paul leaned against John’s shoulder.   
“And how the fuck do you propose we do that, we don’t exactly have our own bathroom to take turns in.”   
George asked. John chuckled, unbuckling his pants. Paul shamelessly stared, knowing no one was going to notice. They were all too far gone.   
“Don’t take it out right away Johnny, ya’ might scare em’.”   
Paul laughed, rubbing himself under the dirty blanket. John finally gave attention to his cock, moaning lightly. Even though it was through his jeans. George fell against the wall, next to the door he was closing. His head was hot, and he trembled. Watching his friends so easily do something so unnatural. He watched as John gripped himself through his pants, and as Paul was basically jerking off. A mixture of his own arousal and the musty smell of what only could be described as precum and hormones made George’s cock hurt for any kind of touch.   
“Georgie, don’t act like you don’t want to. You’re so hot and thickened up, just let it happen.”   
John said, or more like commanded. Paul moaned, getting harder at the tone of John’s voice. He secretly took a sniff of John’s neck, and stroked faster while George’s knees grew weaker. Paul didn’t know how John would react to the fact that he was getting off on his sexy voice and musk, and the sight of his bulbus cock poking through. It was so sudden, even he didn’t know what to do.   
“Don’t make me tell Paul how you were almost jerking off in front of the in the bathroom. Just get it over with.”   
John said, further ensuring that George was going to do something he never thought he would. Jerk off with a group of friends. Ever since he had come to Hamburg, his morals were thrown out of the window. His knees finally gave up on him, almost completely losing feeling. He sunk to the floor, crawling to the bed, In the corner next to John. Feeling immensely anxious, George looked down to the continuously growing swell in his jeans. With a shaky hand, he unzipped. Looking over to Paul and John, their eyes were focused on their own situations. Paul mumbling and sneaking glances at John’s now unclothed member. John started stroking it, having covered his hand in his own spit prior. George’s attention went back his own problem, finally deciding that it was best to develop the mindset of “What happens in Hamburg stays in Hamburg.” So, like John, he lathered his hand in his own spit and went to work. The air was hot, almost sticky. Room was filthy and dark, only lit by the moonlight coming through the window. All you could hear was heavy pants and wet skin. John turned his head to George, who was of course next to him. Finding the young boy’s face shimmering from a layer of sweat. Hair, that was usually swept up by gel, lay flat against his warm cheekbones. John slowed down on his cock, wanting to get his point across he wanted to make before ending the fun night.   
“We need to pop this virgin’s cherry Paul, what do you think?”   
He asked, making Paul jump up from his favorite spot on John’s shoulder. This made George look both of them in the eye, both still pleasuring themselves. The feeling it gave him was something he’s never felt. Watching his friend's face’s as they tease him, and seemingly stroking their cocks to it. George’s eyebrows flurried, arousal getting more intense at the merciless mocking. His face read total embarrassment, and maybe subtle anger at the fact John just couldn’t let the fact he was a virgin go.   
“What do you suppose we do with em’ John? Can’t have a bloody virgin ruining the band.”   
Paul played into John’s words, causing George to finally crumple and lean his head back with a moan his hand stroking even faster. Both of his friends chuckled, John taking a moment to think. He was going to get George Harrison laid if it was the last thing he did. He didn’t have any clue why he was having so much trouble, he was a lovely lad. Rather nice sized cock too, John noted in his mind. That was totally a straight thing to think, he convinced himself. They’re only doing this because they don’t have any other choice, they all tried to convince themselves. Paul leaned back onto John’s shoulder, scrunching up his legs as he felt himself on the brink. And John turned to him, feeling his heat and getting close himself.   
“You’re just as bad as him, Macca.”   
He stated. He leaned in closer, muttering obscene things into Paul’s ear. George didn’t even try to listen. Instead focusing on his own ‘Pretty hotel staff lady’ fantasy. Paul shut his eyes tight at the words John was forcing upon him,   
“Such a pretty boy, aren’t you? Fitting so perfectly on my lap like a small bird. You loved making Johnny hard didn’t you? You gonna cum looking at my cock, huh? Oh, I wanna lay you down on this bed and take you myself”   
Paul just couldn’t take it, pumping faster with each sentence John muttered to him. And in all honesty, John had gone farther than he anticipated himself. He expected Paul to turn the whole operation down. Call him a poof, anything. But it made him thrilled to see his friend finishing all over the already filthy blanket he used to cover himself with, to his words threatening to fuck him against the mattress. Hearing Paul explode all over himself, with a pathetically sexy whimper, it didn’t take John too long after that to cum all over his white shirt. Both laid limp against each other, feeling high with great orgasms. Paul looked at George, who’s attention was thankfully not on any one of them. John, even as exhausted as he was, grinned at George.   
“For an untouched boy, you sure do last long.”   
He giggled. George shot intense eyes at John and groaned, annoyed he wouldn’t just leave him alone. Annoyed that no matter how much he denied it, or how he would never admit it. John’s cruel taunting made him so hot. So horny. Not even the fact that it was John, he couldn’t figure out why. It embarrassed, and frankly pissed him off more than he could ever describe. But without words, he begged for John to continue. He knew exactly how to ensure he would, play into his sick game.   
“Shut up, Lennon!”   
He raised his voice, eyes growing angrier. Or, more sexually frustrated. Nothing was more intimidating than Harrison’s eyes the few times he got mad, many had to admit. But nothing intimidated John.   
“What? That humiliate you? Don’t worry, I’ll help you get laid. Such a pitiful boy, have to have me get you a damn prostitute. I’ll do it if you want me too George, get you a real looker too. The best in fucking Hamburg.”   
Something about that forced George to give his hand an extra lick, getting right back to work after. Eyes shutting, focusing on the strange mixture of degrading sexual pleasure and shame.   
“If you want me too, tell me right now. You’ll be fucking by tomorrow night I can grantee you that.”   
John continued. Paul watched as George unraveled, going so far as to nearly shout.   
“Ahh! Fuck! Such a fucking prick Johnny-”   
He moaned, rubbing the head of his cock. Paul, just realizing what was making George so excited.   
“Keep degrading em’ John, seems like he’s getting off on it.”   
Paul suggested, earning a playful nudge from John and a smile.   
“Say it George. Admit you need my help. Beg me to get your dick wet!”   
John hissed, breaking the helpless boy. George banged his head on the wall behind him that was in bad need of a new paint job. Mostly frustration, but also because he hated the words he was about to say   
“Please! God I can’t take it anymore, I need to have someone now! I want it- Fuck!”   
And with the last swear, George finished all over himself, drenching his hand and the bottom of his shirt. Like the rest of his friends. John got what he wanted, that was for sure. And he was going to keep his promise. He insured that with a snarky wink at the panting lad.   
“Alright, off to bed with ya. You've got a big day tomorrow.”   
John told him, more brotherly tone now. George was so utterly drained, he complied wordlessly. Ignoring the questionable cum he just had. Like Paul did as well. They all took off their soiled shirts, and wiped their hands on them. Discarding them in the corner next to the door leading the hall. George fell onto the couch with a thud, last thoughts before promptly drifting off to a coma-like sleep being comforting words to himself. Ensuring himself that he only came to his friend's words because he had a lot of bottled up hormones due to his still intact cherry. Paul had no comforting words. After a few moments they knew they were the only ones left awake, due to George’s snoring. Lying next to John, subtly feeling his bare back against his as they faced away from each other. Paul could hardly remember what was said and the events had just taken place. All he could remember was, he had come to the thought, image, and company of his best friend. On a trip where he was to spend a small room with him. And many other adolescent boys.   
“Maybe this Hamburg thing was a bad idea, John?”   
He suddenly spoke, breaking the faint tension. John knew from his voice he was in no joking mood, so he didn’t bother him with any sarcastic remarks.   
“What do you mean by that?”   
He asked, wanting Paul to not bottle up any doubt he was feeling. Although Paul wasn’t feeling doubt, at the end of their first week in a totally different country. Performing 7 nights in a row, the crowds seemed to adore them. Many coming back again and again just to see them. That, Paul had no worry over.   
“Did you mean what you said?”   
Paul asked, holding whatever memory he had left before he slept it all away. John stayed silent, remembering every word. Yes, he did, but he couldn’t say that. And he didn’t have to. Paul knew John never stopped to think unless he was hiding something. Something he couldn’t, or wouldn’t come to terms with. John was weird that way.   
“I don’t even remember what I said.”   
John lied, and Paul knew it. That was okay, it could have just been a genuine slip up. Something they would never speak of again. But something in the bottom of their stomach’s made them know otherwise.   
“Me neither.”   
Paul lied as well, feeling his eyes forced close by exhaustion. John gulped a big knot,   
“Good night.”


	4. I'm not dead my laptop broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead I promise.

Okay I know it's been a while but it isn't my fault! Right when I got an archive of our own account my laptop breaks, ironically. I've still been working and getting the next chapter together. I would just prefer to type it out on my laptop instead of my small phone, because of how lengthy my chapters tend to be. So I'm working on either getting another one, or getting my current one fixed. I just wanted to give that small update. And maybe elaborate on the chapters to come. Essentially it's going to focus on the beatles upbringing, this particular story being hamburg era. The next story will be beatlemania. And then the later years, of peace love and revolution. And yes it focuses on their success and fame, but it also mainly focusses on their relationships. Paul and John, and Ringo and George. It's just interesting to me to write. Happy reading and thank you~~


	5. The Hideout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is done on my phone, so if the quality isn't as ship shape as it normally is I apologize. But with all being considered I think I did well. This might be a short chapter but I feel bad for being away for so long, and leaving on a cliff hanger. So I wanted to get back to you all as quickly as I could.   
> George challenges John. Never a good idea really.

George's knuckles were aching because of his nerves. Walking into the sinister bar, the smell of alcohol and sweat in the air, he knew what he was going to have to do. It was littered with women in lingerie clinging to the sides of rough looking men. He didn't belong here. He knew he didn't belong here. And as the looks everyone was giving him, and the rest of the band, they knew it to. But George did one stupid thing. Something that he was maybe going to regret his whole life. He gave John Lennon a challenge.   
*4 hours earlier*  
It was currently 3 p.m. And John and Paul were still asleep. Pete was off wondering around the hotel. And Stuart and George sat on the couch, George reading a book. And Stuart sketching on a pad. It had a comfortable atmosphere, the sun looking just about on the verge of setting.   
"How long are they going to sleep?"  
Stuart muttered. George glanced down at them, and boldly kicked their mattress where they lay. At first they both stayed still, only slightly moving showing they were waking up.   
"Is the breakfast bar still open?"  
John asked drowsily. Both boys on the couch erupted into laughter,  
"Johnny, it's 3 in the afternoon. Get up ya lazy sod."  
Stuart joked, kicking the bed some more. Paul whined and pushed Stuart's leg away. His eyes were still closed and his head was pounding,  
"Stoppit Stu, me head's killin' me!"  
Paul begged, cuddling up more with the only pillow they had on the bed, ultimately stealing it from John. While his head hit the firm mattress, John was finally wide awake. He sat up a bit, still shirtless from the night before. His face was puffy from sleep and hair was in need of brushing. He looked down at Paul and shook his head,   
"Anyone wanna help me get the princess up?"  
He asked. George and Stuart looked at eachother. Paul was an absolute nightmare if anyone tried to disturb his sleep. Especially after a long night. Only John could wake him up without getting slapped.   
"You want to go get some drinks, George?"  
Stuart asked, completely ignoring John. George quickly agreed, looking over to him  
"Yes I would, you want vodka or whiskey this time?"  
He continued while John was busy contemplating getting new friends.   
"Well we'll just have to see what they have, be back in a bit John."  
On their way out they were in a fit of giggles, leaving John to tend to waking up Paul. He looked down once more at the lad, already fast asleep again and snoring. Watching the covers lift up and down at his light breathing, it was almost relaxing. The room was silent, after hearing the other two laugh all the way down the hall. And John just..watched Paul. His face down in the pillow, back to John. Instead of bothering him, he took the moment of silence to lay back down next to Paul. He didn't know why. He felt comfortable next to him.   
'It's because you're cold and he's warm'  
John told himself. And it was almost true. He, without even touching Paul, could feel his warmth. For the first time in his life, John felt timid. Being next to his best friend, just gazing at him. His back, more or rather. But even that held John's attention, made him scoot a bit closer. He took a moment to remember the night before, memories coming back in random flashes. He remembers Paul in his lap. Paul's lips grazing his ear, that memory making a shiver go down his spine.   
'My God Johnny, you smell so good'  
Paul's voice echoed in his mind, and his eyes widened. He didn't understand. He hadn't showered in day's, how? And why did Paul even care? Care enough to almost moan it in John's ear. Seemingly involuntarily, John leaned in closer to Paul. Nestling his nose deep in his hair, and breathing in slowly. It smelled like sweat. Smoke. And something that made John take a deeper breath in. It smelled like Paul. There is no one word to describe the personal aroma any person had, but John could only think of one word to even try to describe Paul's.   
"So sweet.."  
He murmured. Without warning, Paul shifted. Turning around to meet John's face. Instead of keeping the distance, Paul hugged John tight.   
"Paul,wake up."  
John said. Paul opened his eyes groggily.   
"Get the fuck off of me."  
John told him. Paul groaned, and pushed him away angrily. John laughed at the bratty boy as he sat up with him. He watched Paul rub his face and yawn, arching his back while stretching. John looked away promptly, not wanting to focus on how Paul's spine perfectly aligned with his back dimples.   
"Time for breakie, Johnny?"  
Paul asked, rubbing his eyes. John's heart melted.   
"I'm afraid we missed it, love. By about 5 hours."  
Paul looked at him, mouth agape.   
"5 bloody hours?!"  
He gasped. John burst out laughing,  
"Believe it, son. We should be good to party all night."  
There was never a night of relaxation with John.   
///////  
Instead of staying inside the hotel for another night of drinking. They filled up their flasks and headed out into Hamburg, a place they were completely foreign to. The sun was finally setting, so they briskly made their way through the damp and cold streets. Only making it down maybe 2 blocks before discovering a quaint little hole in the wall, looking to be run out of a space under the apartments above it. John nodded his head into the direction of it, and the band followed him. Being close enough to see the sign above the door, John squinted to read it. Being about as blind as a bat, he nudged George.   
"Oi, what does that say?"  
He asked. George did a quick scan and answered.   
"The hideout"  
They all cocked an interested brow, exchanging glances at each other before walking in. The interior was casual, couches and lounge chairs spread about. Some simple two people tables sat close to each other as well. The walls were covered in fascinating designs that resembled tree branches, reaching out and seemingly leading to a simple corner that had one microphone stand and a wooden stool. On the left side of that corner, the wall was covered in large professional coffee brewing machines. And above them hung different mugs, each had unique designs.   
"So...different."  
Paul whispered to himself, but the gang heard. They wordlessly agreed as well. Liverpool was a dull and torturous place to grow up in. Nothing this lively would even dare be there. After getting over the overall set up of the establishment, they then focused on the people. Young men in colorful button up shirts, and some sporting the same style as the boys. Young woman, all in mini skirts and just as short baby doll dresses. Picking their jaws off of the ground, they went up to the counter and ordered the cheapest cup of joe on the menu. Afterwards, sitting down at a circle of leather lounge chairs in the farthest corner, a small coffee table rested in the middle.   
"So. How do we like it, boy's?"  
John asked. Everyone was still looking around, but each answered. Pete nodded enthusiastically, as did Stuart and George.   
"It's like those places we'd read in the magazine's at home!"  
Paul said, as a waitress sat down large mugs of steaming coffee. Paul gave the bird a wink, and she smiled kindly while walking away. None of them had really had coffee before, everyone back home drank tea. Quizzically, they all picked up their mug. It smelled atrocious, so they sat it down to cool. It was silent for a moment, they listened to the low rumble of bystanders conversation. George was lost in his thoughts. Did John even remember last night? The promise he made him? Would that even be a bad thing if he didn't? George pondered. John was always on his case. Always trying to push him. Calling him names, picking on him. Yes it was also true, John did that to everyone. But it seemed a bit more personal when he did it to George. Some part of the guitarist said to himself  
'This is your moment to finally shut John up! Take your chance and get it over with!'  
And he was worried if that voice in his head was right. If he slept with any bird, that would be great too. But if he challenged John to keep his word. Personally insure that John wouldn't get the best of him this time. Then John would have to have some kind of respect for him, if he wanted to or not.   
"So John, are you going to keep that promise of yours?"  
George broke the silence. John, now sitting casually, looked up from blowing on the hot coffee in his hands.  
"What promise, George?"  
George smirked, loving that he finally somewhat had the upper hand.   
"I'll have you fucking by tomorrow night, George. Get you a real looker too, the best in all of Hamburg!"  
George quoted John, making sure to even add the drunken slurs John had while he stated it the night before. Pete choked on his drink, coughing to get it out of his throat. John gritted his teeth.   
'Learning from the best, aren't we Georgie boy?'  
He thought, smirking back at the lad.   
"I was shit faced, Georgie. Like I even remember."  
Stuart looked truly appalled, raising his voice slightly but still somehow keeping a whisper to make sure no one heard.  
"You promised this boy you would get him laid?? While you were bloody drunk?? What the hell John!?"  
George held up a hand, getting Stuart's attention while he continued.   
"No no no, not just get laid. He promised by tonight. And it would be the best prostitute he could find."   
He then rested his hand, picking up his mug from the table. Stuart glared back at John  
"A prostitute John???"  
He hissed. John rolled his eyes, scoffing at this idiotic conversation.   
"Oh come on. Like I was being serious?"  
George finally took his first sip after cooling the coffee down, and said the sentence he never should have.   
"What? Too big of a Challenge for John Lennon?"  
The group got quiet, eyes peering to John to see his reaction. You could see the gears churning in his auburn haired head. His jaw clenched, frustration read clear on his face.  
"You want a fucking prostitute, Harrison. I'll get you a fucking prostitute."  
He said through gritted teeth.   
Suddenly, the door of the shop creaked open, the little bell on the ceiling chiming. A petite girl, thin and graceful stepped in. Black mary jane pumps covered her feet, with high white socks to her knees. Nude mini skirt hugged her thighs, and a fitted blazer of the same shade was buttoned across her torso. She wore a scarf, neutral brown, that laid flowing in the wind of the outdoors. She adjusted her long strapped purse at her side and walked to the counter, letting the boys notice the most pressing detail about this stunning beauty. Her lovely blond hair was cut short. Shorter than any bop even. It still framed her face nicely. The boys had never seen such a bird before. John's mind was made.   
"Her. I'll ask her where we can find a brothel."


	6. "I prefer my coffee black, thank you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really dragging this whole "losing George's virginity" thing out aren't I? Sorry if it's getting old I'll try to wrap it up in the next chapter  
> *this does include homophobic terms. Obviously I do not condone but it's period relevant. And John's a bit of an asshole but that's because he's in denial you feel me. Thank you*

While watching the nice bird pay for her cup of coffee and sit down, John was like a hawk. A mistake the lovely woman made was sitting next to them, in one of those cute two person tables. John hopped up, being stopped by Stuarts arm  
"No no no John?! Don't bother her! She's a respectable young woman, she doesn't want the lights of us as company."  
Paul hit Stu's side, making him lose grip on John's jacket.  
"Speak for yourself Stu, I think I might have a chance with her."  
Paul and John led the way. Following behind, a grinning Pete and an anxious George. Finally, Stuart lazily walked behind all of them. John sat on the opposite end of the small table. The bird didn't look up from her book, even though the menacing crowd of teddy boys surrounded her. John leaned his head to the side, smirking.  
"Ello ello, anyone home?"  
He jested. She kept her mouth shut, deducing from his accent, the group of boys were from out of town. Way out of town in fact.  
"Come on love, open up that pretty mouth of yours"  
Eye's still glued to the pages, she softly spoke.  
"Speak to me with some intelligence or don't speak to me at all."  
She stated, earning a giggle from Stuart. John shot him a short glare, and went back to the woman.  
"What? You don't find joy in helping others?"  
John continued to press. A waitress made her way to the woman's side with a mug in her hand's. Sitting it down, she gave a low whisper into the mysterious girl's ear. Looking up from her book finally, completely ignoring the boys in front of her and gave the waitress a kind smile and said  
"Yes, Mandy. I'm perfectly fine. Thank you so much! I have your head shots ready upstairs by the way Dear, Feel free to come by and get them when your shift ends"  
Exchanging short giggles, the waitress went back to work and she went back to her book. From her peripheral vision she saw the rough looking lad in front of her open his mouth once more. And for the first time since their encounter she looked up at him,  
"If you need information I would love nothing more than to give it to you fine gentlemen. Please speak to me with the manners your mother taught you, or you will get nowhere with me I assure you."  
Her eyes went promptly back to her book. John was infuriated. But everyone else was slightly intimidated, but nonetheless impressed. Paul looked at John, noticing now that the bird made another mistake. Bringing up John's mother. It wasn't a serious jab, but even the slightest mention effected John. It had only been a little less than a year since her unfortunate accident. Paul laid a sneaky hand on John's shoulder, reminding him that in moments like these it was best to relax. After a few seconds, Paul felt John let his tense muscles go. So he let his arm rest at his side, as he did so John finally spoke up  
"I'm sorry. My name's John Lennon-"  
He started pointing to each band mate  
"This is Pete Best. Don't let the name fool you. Stuart Sutcliffe. Paul McCharmly. And this-"  
He wrapped an aggressive arm around George's neck, still a bit annoyed at the youngest band mate.  
"Is George Harrison. And do we have a question for you. If you would kindly answer, please."  
He faked a posh accent to give his suck up to the woman extra flair. She smiled finally, enjoying earning some respect from the group of ill-mannered men. She looked at them, eyes made up with a small line with a cat like flick at the end. George flushed at the pretty lady. As did Stuart and Pete, but Paul and John stayed strong.  
"Good evening, boy's. My name is Astrid Kirchher. What can I do for you?"  
John let George go, and folded his hands together over the table.  
"Do you know where a good brothel is?"  
He asked, letting the posh accent go. Expecting the woman to be gravely offended, John smiled cheekily. But she just smiled back, thinking for a second.  
"I think you're meaning, "Dirty Joe's Booze Shack." All the alcohol and whore's any young man should want. And the best part is they don't card you. So you all should be fine."  
The group looked in awe. Hamburg really was a totally different world. Astrid being a nice young woman, they had never heard a woman speak vulgar words. Not casually as Astrid did anyway, like it wasn't anything. Even John was caught a bit off guard.  
"And where can I find Dirty Joe's?"  
He managed to ask. Astrid thought, taking a few seconds to eye the group. She noticed they all wore clothes that looked like it came out of the same closet. Greased hair and dark eyes. She was instantly absorbed with them, these bizarre boy's.  
"Would you mind if I joined you? It's a bit difficult to find if you're new. And it's on the other side of town, we'll need to take my van."  
She began to count how many there were, mumbling to herself  
"1 2 3 4 5… I think I can handle that many. Onward boy's."  
She walked up to the counter, leaving the group at the table. John certainly had chosen the right woman to talk to. Seeming to be an intellectual along with them, they smiled at each other while she spoke to the waitress whom she earlier referred to as Mandy.  
"Yes Darling, may I get this to go please?"  
////////////////  
Her van was spacious, holding all 5 boys easily while she drove. The color was a light blue, and the seats were a dark brown leather. The boy's were laughing and cracking jokes in the back, drinking out of their flasks. Stuart looked up as Astrid sat alone up front driving, and felt a tinge of guilt. They were treating her like a limo service, but she didn't look too upset about it. Stuart got up and made his way to the passenger seat, nervous hands hidden in his jacket pocket. She cursed in her mind, expecting him to try awkward attempts at pick up lines. Instead he sat there a while, looking over to her finally and explaining  
"I just felt bad seeing you sitting up here by yourself. It's a very nice thing you're doing."  
She, while concentrating on the road, felt herself get a warm feeling in her stomach. A delightful gesture of pure kindness.  
"Thank you, umm.."  
She couldn't find his name in her thoughts. He finished her sentence,  
"Stuart, ma'am."  
She smiled to herself, turning a corner on the street.  
"Thank you, Stuart."  
They listened to the juvenile boy's in the back, Lennon conducting a silly song. They all sung out of tune, the pub song known throughout Liverpool,  
"Oh dirty Maggie Mae they have taken her away, she'll neva walk down lime street anymore!"  
Stuart chuckled and yelled out,  
"Why won't she, Johnny?!"  
With that John stood up and began singing louder, Paul right behind him jumping on his back.  
"Well the judge he guilty found 'er! For robbin' a homeward bounder!! You dirty no good robbin' Maggie Mae!"  
Paul's weight finally getting the best of John, they both fell on the van's floor. Creating a simultaneous dip that erupted through the whole van. Paul was on top of John, he sat up still laughing. He looked down, seeing his friend wide eyed and embarrassed. Everyone was laughing, including Astrid.  
"Alright you two, keep the movement to a minimum I would hate to crash."  
She said, giggles still apparent in her voice. Paul then got off of John, and helped him up. He gave Paul an angry look, and his bandmate was confused.  
"What?"  
Paul mouthed, shrugging his shoulders before they all relaxed in their seat's. Paul and John sharing one, as well as a flask they kept passing back and forth. George sat alone, as Pete noticed. Just aimlessly staring out of the window. Letting out a sigh, Pete got up and sat next to the youngest member. George hardly noticed.  
"What's the matter George? A man in your situation should be dancing in his seat yet you're looking on the verge of tears."  
It was an exaggeration, George wasn't going to cry. But he was in deep thought.  
"What have I done, Pete?"  
He groaned. Pete chucked, giving the poor lad a sympathetic look.  
"It's not that bad, George. What are you so anxious about?"  
George thought. He was terrified of women really. After this kind thing Astrid is doing for them, all he could manage to do to thank her was smile and shyly look away as he stepped into the van. How was he supposed to have sex with a random girl he doesn't even know in the matter of an hour maybe? One solution popped in his head. He unscrewed the cap on his flask and downed it almost whole.  
"I'm not anxious, Pete. Look at me, sheer confidence."  
He choked, feeling the burn in his throat from the whisky. It didn't do much, being drunk every night for a week made your body build a tolerance.  
"This place we're going to Astrid. What's it like? Have you ever been there?"  
John spoke up. Astrid glanced back at him through the side-view mirror, answering quickly  
"Well John, I have been. It's been awhile, I'll admit. But honestly I don't know how the place stays open. Shots are the cheapest in town. They sell to minors all the time. Nothing in that place is legal, underage prostitutes and homosexuals running all throughout it."  
John tightened his jaw, as did Paul.  
"Dirty poofs."  
John grunted, and Paul rolled his eyes.  
"Dirty poofs!"  
He mocked. John glared at him, but quickly gave his attention back to Astrid.  
"How long until we get there?"  
She did some simple calculations in her mind,  
"About 10 minutes or less. We're not far at all."  
John crossed his arms, now frustrated. Instead of sitting and moping, he got up and made his way to the seat behind George. Paul scoffed, knowing John was going to be pissy tward him the rest of the night.  
"So George. How are you feeling?"  
John asked. George hiccuped,  
"Not nearly drunk enough. Why do they make these things so small?"  
He stuffed his empty flask back in the inside of his jacket. John stood up behind Pete and George and leaned between them to get a good look at the youngest,  
"Nervous are you? You'd better not back out, son. You'll owe me for the rest of your natural born life for this."  
George pushed John back to the seat behind him, and rubbed his face. He then realized, instead of getting John off his back, he just ensured John was never going to leave it. The "leader" of the band was laughing to himself, and Pete stuck up for George by saying  
"Leave the boy alone, Johnny! You can be a right prick sometimes."  
John just laughed louder, and George spoke up,  
"The cheapest shots in Hamburg you say, Astrid?"  
The first words he ever said to her. Astrid, while pulling next to some dark buildings with neon lights, chuckled and nodded her head.  
"Yes Sir, only the cheapest for us."  
They parked on the side of the road, with all the other cars. Evidently you had to walk to the destination.  
"Alright boy's, we're here."  
Stuart held out a hand to help her out of the driver's seat, and looked around to find restaurants and music shop's. But..no brothel in sight.  
"Are you sure?"  
He asked. Astrid grabbed her purse, and opened the van door. They all followed her on the way out.  
"I told you it would be difficult to find if you're new in town. Don't worry, Stu. I know where I'm going."  
She started making her way down the street. John pushed his way behind her. Passing by many stores with large windows to look into. The boys looked inside all of them, amazed that "The Hideout" wasn't the only shop with eccentric decor. Every place in Hamburg was like that! Astrid noticed she wasn't being followed, so she looked behind her to notice the boy's looking in several different windows. She marvelled at how dumbfounded they seemed.  
"Where are you guys from anyway?"  
She asked. Pete looked up, and answered  
"Hell!"  
She laughed  
"No really! I wanna know."  
John ran up next to her, as everyone followed. Still making their way down the long street crowded with cars.  
"Liverpool. But, Pete was right, it's essentially hell."  
Astrid stopped abruptly, at a dark shadowy alley way. She gestured for them to follow her. As they did, George counted his blessings. They passed by silver tin trash cans. And old faded band posters pasted on the brick walls. Astrid stopped at a tall black metal door, and knocked 3 times. After a minute, a large husky man answered. Bandana on his head, and ripped up light blue jeans. He didn't have a shirt on, but just a leather vest. He eyed them up and down, grumpling before opening his mouth which had a thick moustache above it and saying,  
"One lump or two?"  
The boy's showed mutual visible confusion. Astrid smiled and shook her head no,  
"I prefer my coffee black, thank you"  
The man smiled back, and held the door open for the group. George's knuckles were aching because of his nerves. Walking into the sinister bar, the smell of alcohol and sweat in the air, he knew what he was going to have to do. It was littered with women in lingerie clinging to the sides of rough looking men. He didn't belong here. He knew he didn't belong here. And as the looks everyone was giving him, and the rest of the band, they knew it to. But George did one stupid thing. Something that he was maybe going to regret his whole life. He gave John Lennon a challenge. The place was different from all the other windows they had previously looked into. It was reminiscent of any bar back at home in Liverpool. Wooden bar stools. Worn out tables and chairs. People playing cards. George sat at the bar first, as the gang spread out taking up all the stools. George was already a little tipsy, so he emptied his pockets on the table. The man behind the counter looked at the money, and chuckled.  
"How much'll that get me?"  
He asked. The bartender looked, and looked at the obviously under age boy in front of him.  
"About 12 shots. Or 6 beers. Which ya want?"  
George hiccuped,  
"Whiskey shots, please. Keep em comin'."  
The bartender poured him the biggest shot George had ever seen. Nerves still bugging him, he downed it quick. John noticed from afar how much George was torturing himself, and actually felt bad for him. He ordered a beer and sighed  
"I swear, he just needs to relax."  
Astrid, who sat next to Stuart, heard John.  
"Why is he so nervous? Has he never been to a bar before?"  
She asked. They were keeping their voices a whisper, not wanting George to hear.  
"No, John basically ruined his life, is all."  
Stuart said, raising his hand for two beers. Astrid looked at John,  
"How?!"  
John rolled his eyes, as Paul giggled to himself.  
"I did not. He wanted to lose his virginity to a prostitute. Here we are. I did what he asked me to."  
Astrid was taken aback, doing a double take.  
"John, this is immoral!"  
Pete and Stuart groaned,  
"Tell us about it"  
They said, at the same time ironically. As the bartender sat down Stuart's two beers, he handed one to Astrid.  
"I thought that was for me?"  
Pete said jokingly. Astrid took it, thanking Stuart again. They all went off in their own worlds. Stuart talking to Astrid, getting to know her better. Pete was talking to George, comforting the nervous wreck. John and Paul sat together, normally a loud rambunctious pair. But they were silent. Paul felt melancholy because of how John had been slightly passive aggressive to him all afternoon. Seemingly only joking around with him in front of everyone because that's what they expected.  
"Are you not going to drink?"  
John asked, gulping down more beer. Paul bit the inside of his mouth,  
"I don't always have to be drunk like you, John."  
John spit some of his drink out through his teeth, landing it on Paul.  
"Piss off."  
He sneered. Paul wasn't surprised, instead he kept a calm voice  
"You're upset with me John. Why?"  
But with all of Paul's patience, John just chuckled low and angrily.  
"Don't talk to me like you know how I think, you bloody fag."  
Paul's chest sank, and his heart felt like it hit the ground. John Lennon..of all people. The same man who threatened to shag him against the mattress the night before. The same man who he caught smelling his hair this morning. The same man, who he's caught multiple time's eyeing his arse. He didn't even have the right to call Paul out on something like that when he was guilty of the same thing he was. How dare he?  
"I beg your pardon?"  
Paul inquired.  
John looked forward, not looking Paul's way.  
"You heard me."  
He said, showing he always did have quite the temper. Paul grinned, finally raising his hand for a beer himself. If this was the cruel game John wanted to play he could.  
"Alright, yeah. Keep telling yourself that Lennon.


	7. "You're such a sweet boy when you actually take time and relax."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George finally got self confidence! With a little help from, shockingly John. And Paul might just be trying to make a certain rhythm guitarist jealous. Also I do hope people aren't thinking I'm making John to mean at times. It was just a simple fact that John could be a huge asshole whenever he wanted. And poor Paul. He certainly must have a lot of patience to deal with him.

John didn't know why he was mad. Or why he called Paul that. Something about being here, what Astrid had said.  
"Underage prostitutes and homosexuals."  
Her words echoed. She wasn't particularly saying it as if she didn't agree, she was just stating a fact that it was illegal to be a homosexual. (Although she was truly against the underage prostitutes)  
But whatever reason John was upset, he unfortunately took it out on Paul. He knew he didn't deserve it to, he just wanted to piss someone off. And his mission was a success, John watched Paul grab himself a beer and go off into the bar. Leaving him to sit alone as the rest of the band was talking amongst themselves. John told himself to ignore Paul, he knew whatever action he took next was just to personally grind his gears. But something possessed him to keep a keen eye on Paul, watching his movements. He watched as the dark haired bass player made his way to a table with a group of ladies, dressed as if they wanted the whole world to see what was on their chests. Not Paul's type at all, John knew. But being the most charming one in the band, he smooth-talked his way into the girl's offering him a seat at their table. Seeing this made him chug the rest of his drink,  
"Fucking brilliant.'  
He mumbled to himself. The bartender, being quite good at his job, quickly replaced it. John looked at the drink,  
"I don't have any more money."  
He said, barely audible. Having had dealt with countless drunks over the years, the bartender knew what he said.  
"You seem upset. Tell me an interesting story, I'll let you get drunk for free."  
John scoffed, typical therapeutic bartender. Made John want to punch something, but he really wanted to get drunk.  
"My friends a prick, I'm a prick. Don't know how to stop bein' one, I just am."  
John grunted, picking up the bottle. The man laughed at him, causing John to give him an angry glare.  
"Is that interesting enough for you?"  
John asked after taking a drink. The man behind the bar thought for a moment.  
"You're too young to be an actual prick. You're just confused."  
Was all he said, giving a small wink before going to tend to other customers. John felt violated. Astrid wasn't kidding, the place was hell with a metal door. John took the strange form of complement as a yes though and snagged two more beers from under the counter. From emptying his flask with Paul, and these four beers doing down his throat. He wasn't going to remember the rest of this night hopefully.  
He watched Stuart seemingly hitting it off with Astrid and it made him want to puke. And looking further down the bar at George, who was alone. Pete had left his side and was talking to a bird not too far from where Paul was. John took his beers and made his way to sit next to the lonely drunk.  
"If you're going to give me a hard time just leave me alone John."  
George said before he even got the chance to sit down. John sat down anyway, and George felt a weird comfort when he didn't immediately start making fun of him like he normally did.  
"If you want to head back to the hotel we can."  
John said, to George's dismay. This caused the youngest to look his leader in the eye,  
"What the hell am I supposed to do?"  
He asked. John looked at him,  
"The fuck do you mean?"  
He was genuinely confused. Was George really that daft when it came to women? It had never really occurred to John, but George was the most insecure out of all the band. He was quiet, at times. But John took a second to look back at every time George was around a woman, he always tried to talk but never with any kind of confidence. This baffled John to no end. Out of everyone, even John knew George was the kindest, The most genuine person he had asked to accompany him to Hamburg in the first place. How George could be so doubtful of himself was beyond John's comprehension.  
"Look George. I have no clue what's going on in that pretty head of yours. But you're a nice, attractive young man. You've just got no confidence. Why? Beats me."  
John then took one of the many shot glasses George had accumulated over the short amount of time they had been there and filled it with the bottom barrel of his flask. Barely enough for a proper shot but it was something.  
"But! You've got the makings of a perfect boy. And you just need to head out, pick out any little blonde you want. And have your way with her."  
He ended his small rant by knocking the shot down his throat. George was taken aback. It wasn't particularly normal for men to compliment each other, and it especially wasn't normal for John to become so sincere all of the sudden. Although George's vision was getting wobbly, he still looked John in the eyes.  
"You're serious."  
He whispered. John slammed the glass down and continued,  
"Of course I am! I give you a hard time cause you piss me off with bein' so hard on yourself all the time. Thinking no woman would ever dare fancy you. It's bullshit, Harrison."  
George gulped down a lump in his throat, searching for anything to say. What could you say to something like that? Thank you?  
"Jesus John-"  
"Tell anybody I told you that, and I'll cripple you. Now go"  
John gestured to the mass of party people in the bar.  
"Go find a beauty."  
George felt something in his chest, and he didn't know what to call it. It was motivation, but he was too drunk to pin-point it. He scoped out the place, actually paying attention to the set up. Other than the fact it was generally a pretty basic bar, there was a large door on the wall opposite of where he was currently sitting. George immediately noticed that all the girls in lingerie were going in and out from that door, fluorescent lights coming from behind it.  
"Fuck it."  
He mumbled and made his way to the doorway. John watched him and smiled, noticing that George was stumbling. John's eye's went back to Paul, as he was still talking up an entire table of bird's. Typical Paul. John still felt a ball of anger grow inside of his stomach. Around this time, he was finishing his third beer. But he couldn't keep his eye's off Paul, and how those girls were throwing themselves at them. One clawing at his jacket collar. The second was whispering in his ear. The other rubbing his thigh. John could burn a whole in his seat for how much his blood was boiling. How dare they touch Paul. His Paul! He tried focusing on something else, looking over to Stuart and Astrid, who was still talking it up. Looked at Pete, who had his mouth glued to some bird's neck. Finally his eyes went back to Paul, seeing his lips were planted on one sluts jaw. John's stomach churned when he saw Paul was looking him dead in the eye. Almost looked like he was going to laugh while covering the woman in sloppy kisses. The other girls were leaving no inch on Paul's body untouched. His eyes were daring John.  
'What are you going to do about it, huh?'  
Paul had always tested John. His mind recalled so many times where Paul would have a girl sitting in his lap, or clinging to his side like those girls were doing now. Instead of looking their way, or giving them attention. Paul always kept his eyes on John. Why? Who knows. It was like he wanted John to care. And deep down he always somewhat did. He remembers specifically when a girlfriend of Paul's was kissing him. Just a simple kiss goodbye as he was dropping her off at her house. John was sitting in the back seat of his car, because they had band practice afterwards. The kiss got heated, and Paul just kept his eyes on John. They were screaming at him.  
"Kiss me like this!"  
He began to bounce a leg on the bar stool, releasing some kind of movement to try and calm himself down. John had no idea what to do. He knew if he tried to talk to Paul he would just blow up and make it worse. He was just trying to focus on not looking Paul's way again. Don't look at him, he's trying to piss you off deliberately. Ultimately failing, he looked at Paul again. Who stopped looking John's way and was now making the girl squeal by having his face plunged in her highly exposed cleavage. Having had enough, John got up from where he was sitting. Movement going right to his already dizzy head, causing him to stumble a bit. He walked the 15 or so steps to Paul, one of the girls looked up at him.  
"Are you John? We've heard a lot about you."  
He ignored her, just looking at Paul. He jumped up from the girls chest, darting his head to look at John.  
"Johnny! Hey mate-"  
He giggled. John rolled his eyes, shooting Paul daggers.  
"Don't 'Hey mate' me. I need to talk to you outside."  
Paul sat up, and put his hands in between his legs.  
'This asshole is actually swollen in his pants isn't he?'  
John thought, knowing Paul too well. He always did that same tactic to hide his hard-ons.  
"John, love, I really don't think this is a great time."  
He smirked up at his band mate. More like a shit eating grin, he knew what he was doing. And it just pissed John off more. Instead of leaving him there with the woman, he snatched him up by his jacket. In the process knocking the table they were sitting at, causing the glasses to toble over. John smiled hearing the women gasp, and shout as their drinks got all over their clothes. He didn't see their faces, though he wished he could have, because he was dragging Paul outside. John slammed him against some trash bins, and Paul stopped himself from falling. His hand scraped against the brick wall, and John hoped it drew blood. Paul stood up straight, swearing under his breath as he waved his wounded hand in order to stop the pain. Like that ever worked, but it still filled John with satisfaction to see Paul hurt.  
"Way to show fucking maturity!"  
He screamed, leaning back on the hard wall. Truth be told John didn't know what to say, or do. He just wanted Paul to stop what he was doing. Stop teasing him. So he just looked as his friend was hunched over, nursing his hand with the opposite one.  
"What'd you do that for?!"  
Paul finally said, voice firm. John was not going to let Paul know he was jealous. It was already obvious he was, but he wasn't going to get him to say it.  
"None of those bird's were your type, Macca! Why were you all over them?!"  
John yelled back. Paul, being the reasonable one between the two. Just shrugged his shoulders, and looked John in his eyes.  
"Because I could. Because I wanted to. Because I like shagging pretty fucking birds just like you do and I dont like being told I don't."  
Paul listed. John stepped closer to his friend, lips tightening from anger.  
"Right. You just wanted to show you could snag any girl in the room. Wanted to prove you're just about everyone's type, like I needed a bloody reminder."  
Paul crossed his arms, chucking while looking off into the distance. Seeing the street, and cars driving. How the colorful lights reflected onto the ground, wet from rain. He wiped his lip with his thumb,  
"John, why do you care? You watched me the entire bleeding time. You're pissed when I wake up in your arms, you're pissed when I pick up a girl. Maybe a little communication is called for, because I don't have any fucking clue what you want from me."  
Paul took a step forward, pushing himself off of the wall. John didn't move, instead looking to the ground. Paul definitely had a point, but that just made him put his guard up higher.  
"Say something John, you really annoy me y'know."  
Paul finally gave John a little shove.  
"Is physical conflict really the only way to get anything out of you?"  
John looked up, gritting his teeth  
"Don't touch me."  
He whispered. Paul grinned and tilted his head, giving John another shove. This one a little harsher than the last.  
"Why, it's got you actually talking to me? You're the one who drug me out here, I think I deserve to hear a reason."  
Paul wasn't stupid, he knew why. But he knew John was never going to say it, which is exactly why he was going to make him. John slapped his hand away, it being the already harmed hand. So Paul did show a hint of pain but still stood tall. Instead of wasting time with more words, Paul just threw all of his weight into one hard shove, causing John to be thrown off balance. Their body's fought, leather jackets rubbing together and squeaking. John threw Paul back against the wall, keeping his weight on him. His hands gripping the collar of Paul's jacket. His head hit the brick, and once again John hoped it made his skull hurt.  
"You're like A child, I swear Lennon!-"  
Paul began squirming to get free from John.  
"Get angry when you don't understand something or yourself! Throw fits when things don't go your fucking way!"  
John lifted Paul up and threw him down again aggressively, making him hit his head once more.  
"Shut up!!"  
He screamed. There was a moment of silence while Paul was recuperating from the nasty strike to the head. John felt a tinge of guilt but he covered it up with frustration, watching Paul look up at him with hooded eyes. Drunk eyes. Bedroom eyes. John wanted to make the way he felt go away, and he was taking it out on Paul and he knew it. But he couldn't say what he felt and he couldn't act out what he wanted to do. Paul noticed the look on John's face soften, and let out a deep sigh.  
"What do you want from me?"  
He whispered, face scrunched up in genuine concern. John loosened his grip on his collar, but kept his hands on Paul. With the distance John was from Paul, he just now noticed he was lifting the lad up in the air just slightly. Just enough for Paul to be standing on his tippy toes. John stepped closer, feeling Paul's body lower as he set him down on the ground. Paul's eye's got heavier,  
"What do you want from me?"  
He whispered again, slower, letting the words fall off his tongue so effortlessly. Going from his collar to the back of Paul's neck, John rested his hands there. Paul leaned into his touch with a smile, glad John was done with his little spat.  
"Done with your little hissy fit, darling?"  
Paul rested his hands on John's face, and like a kitten he leaned into his touch as well.  
"Now tell me love, what do you want from me?"  
Paul used his leg to spread John's thighs, and he heard the guitarist take a hesitant breath in, but he didn't stop him. They let their bodies sink closer together, sticky from the sweating and humidity.  
"You're such a sweet boy when you actually take time and relax."  
Paul smiled, watching John melt in his hands.  
///////////////  
George watched all the women gawk at him, the room was circular with a round couch in the middle with shared backs. Females who were lounging on it and looking at magazines slowly sat up and drew their attention to George. He still wasn't presenting himself confidently, despite what John had said to him. The round wall was covered with mirrors and vanities, filled with makeup and perfume bottles. A woman with jet black hair made her way to George, lacy night-gown flowing behind her. With how pastel and bright the room was, her dark purple attire and black hair stood out, skin was pale as George right about now. She looked alot older than the other girls, he noticed as she got closer. She scanned him over,  
"Well aren't you a cutie. Girl's, make yourself presentable."  
She said, gently caressing George's cheek. It was surprisingly comforting, and it made his cheek turn pink. She smiled, and her red lips made George swallow the same lump in his throat from earlier that just wouldn't go down. He realized how much he needed this. He was sick of being so helpless and horny literally all the time. Just being around these women was making him excited.  
"And he's shy, oh how adorable."  
She said. George noticed that at the opposite side of the room, there was a passage-way to a long hallway seemingly consisting of just doors. At the end of said hallway there was a sign that read.  
'First times FREE'  
He giggled at it,  
"Think I qualify for that deal?"  
He asked, nodding his head to the sign. The older woman looked down to read it, laughing herself. She turned to him,  
"Sweetie, it's a gag sign. Not first time customers, virgin's."  
George nodded his head, putting his hand up to his chin. He looked up, pretending to think for a moment.  
"Now what if I told you, I qualify for both of those for instance's?"  
He cracked the joke, that actually wasn't a joke at all. Still all the girls giggled, some getting up and making sure their hair was just right.  
"Don't toy with me, boy. Alina can sense a virgin a mile away. You're far too beautiful to be one."  
Alina said, going about her business, dusting around the room with a feather duster.  
"The rules are as followed; Pick any girl you should wish, take her out or do what you will in her room-"  
She then pointed to the hallway.  
"After, you pay her. And be on your way."  
Alina tipped her head to him. And made her way down the hallway to what George guessed was her own room, as she shut the door. The girls began to almost swarm around him, all finding him fascinating. Normally they got gross old drunks, either skinny with a beer belly or just fat overall.  
"Are you really a virgin?"  
A red head asked, adjusting her makeup at a vanity. George looked at her, and decided to be truthful  
"Not according to Alina. But I think I would know if I wasn't. Just the sort of thing you remember doin'."  
He said, sticking his hands in his pockets. Some girls giggled at his words, and he looked over  
"What's so funny, lovelies?"  
He asked. Another girl popped up from the couch, this one catching George's eye.  
"You're voice. Sounds like a proper englishman."  
"He sounds like Delilah! Isn't that where she said she was from?"  
Another girl spoke up, making George cock a brow.  
"And where is Delilah now?"  
He asked, feeling confident finally. All these girls were looking at him as if he was a God.  
"Oh, she's back in her room, probably listening to her records. That's all that girl uses her money to buy."  
George grinned. Alright, at least it was a girl he could relate to. He looked at the girl who said the statement,  
"Which room does she stay in?"  
"Sixth door to the left, Mister. She might be upset you're disturbing her."  
George, being too drunk to care of the outcome, just wanted to get this over with. Making his way through the crowd of women, he realized in his state the endless hallway of doors seemed like a maze. A maze for which he stumbled through, anxiety for what to come stopped until he actually knocked on the door. He did in fact hear subtle music coming from Delilah's room, so he made sure to knock loud. He noticed the music being turned down, and the gravity of the situation fell suddenly on his shoulders. Causing him to almost fall to the door frame. Soft footsteps made their way, and finally he watched the entry-way swing open. A small girl standing on the other side, light purple bra being seen through a pink silk night-gown. Blond hair being set for the night in a beautiful braid, cascading along her shoulder. Her wide, youthful eyes made George lose feeling in his legs, blood being occupied in other places.  
"I'm guessing you want service?"  
She asked, and George was slapped with the reality that this was her job. And the thought made his stomach churn. She went back to her bedroom, leaving the door open for George. He stepped in, closing it behind him. She sat at a desk, writing on a pad, before turning her chair to look at George.  
"You certainly don't look the type to need a brothel."  
She said, and George walked further into the room.  
"You don't look like the type to be a prostitute."  
He replied. She smiled, getting up and making her way to him, taking advantage of how much of an exceptional beauty he was. He was shocked at her aggressive movement's, and backed into the door. The room remained quiet, only the light music of her record player was to be heard. 'Love Me' by Buddy Holly. The combination of one of his musician idol's playing, the belly full of booze, and this absolutely sexy woman in front of him made him numb.  
"Are you shy?"  
She asked, finally being close enough to push his hair from his face. He looked down, scared to look her in the eye. He couldn't even choke any response out. She found him to be handsome. And so adorable. She leaned in, and got close to his ear.  
"Are you going to make my night?"  
She whispered, and he let a little whimper out. She was surprised that he was affected so easily but didn't question it. Instead just began to nibble and lick around his ear and he couldn't handle the stimulation.  
"Wait!-"  
He pulled her back, face overly red. With only a little desk lamp illuminating the room though, it wasn't very noticeable. The lighting made her skin glow like warm honey, that he was desperate to taste. He had to think of something to get her back to the hotel. He didn't feel comfortable at this place at all, and doubt he could be comfortable enough to do what she expected him to. Something about the atmosphere made him shiver with anxiety, it was too much pressure on him.  
"Would you like to accompany me to a performance? A band more or rather? A concert!"  
He stumbled to find the right words. Hopefully she would want to, seeing her music passion from the dozens of records scattered along her bed and floor. Her face lit up with excitement,  
"An actual concert? I've never been! Is it rock?"  
George looked for an answer. Hopefully he didn't just lie to Delilah. Until his mind went to the band that replaced their band on the weekend's. What was it? Rory Storm and the Hurricanes?  
"Yes it's rock! Of course!"  
He didn't know why he blurted out the idea. He couldn't stand the idea of shagging this beautiful of a woman and leaving her like it was normal. He just wasn't raised to do such things. It was the combination of both reasons he supposed. He would at least treat her to a night out.  
"But..you don't even know me. My name's Delilah, by the way. I'm..sure you'll want my services after the concert. Is that your form of payment?"  
She said, sounding anxious. And even a little skeptical.  
"Well, you're right. I don't know you. And you don't know me, yet your mouth was just on my neck and ear. If we're going to do such things after, wouldn't it be nice to be treated to a lovely evening of delinquents and painting the town red..?"  
He tapered off, losing track of what he was wanting to say. She flushed at his words, and at how respectful and polite he was being.  
"Sir, you'll be the best customer I've had."  
She said. And George felt his loins harm up. Just the way "Sir" sounded coming from her lips. Being good at her job, she noticed his jaw tighten at what she said.  
"And, I didn't catch your name. Sir."  
She said, just to clarify that was the word he was affected so much by. And seeing him scrunch up his legs was more than enough proof.  
"George. I'm George, love."  
She giggled, turning on a ditsy flirtatious girl persona. It was the least she could do for the man who would take her to her first rock concert.  
"Well, George. I'm yours for the night to use how you wish. To have whatever you desire from me."  
George could almost drool at her words.  
"...whatever?"  
He breathed out, voice soft and shaking. She pinched his hot cheek, and smirked at him.  
"Yes Sir."  
She replied. George almost groaned, feeling her dainty hand and how soft she was. She grabbed his shirt collar and led him to her bed, he made no effort to stop her. Pushing the records out of the way, she gently guided him to sit down.  
"It's so late you caught me in my nighty. I'll just have to get dressed. Please forgive me Sir, but do make yourself comfortable."  
George watched her glide against the carpeted floor to her small closet. There was a short chest under clothes that were hung up. She casually lifted her night-gown over her head, dropping it to the floor. Her back was to George, but with the lilac two piece set he was getting a great show. He shifted in the bed, causing a slight creek. She turned her head to him, her long braid falling down her back from her shoulder. With soft music still playing, she walked over to George. Delilah ran her hands under the hem of her thin panties, loosening them so that they fell to the ground. George turned his head to the side, for-head growing hot under the pressure he was feeling. Delilah continued stripping, unhooking her bra and throwing it to the side of her bed. Now completely nude, George did jittery glances from her to the dark corner of the room. It took all this time to notice what was different about him than any other customer she's had. Seeing his reaction now, it was clear. But there wasn't any point making it known. So she just sat in his lap, causing him to breath heavily still not looking her in the eye.  
"Look at me, please."  
She said. George finally gazed at her, bright blue eyes sending shivers down his arms and spine. Without any self control he looked down at her body, light as a feather in his lap. Her creamy skin looked soft to touch, though his hands sat awkwardly at his sides. She was patient with him though, taking his hands and guiding them to her hips.  
"You've got rough hands for such a young man."  
She mentioned, making him feel comfortable. He could feel himself get aroused by the sight and feel of her.  
"I play guitar for a band. The Silver Beatles."  
She tilted her head, smirking.  
"Oh? I've heard of you. British band that plays at the posh hotel up town?"  
It made him feel safe hearing familiar phrases coming from her. Like he was at home, hearing her accent match his.  
"Word really gets around here, doesn't it love?"  
He said, grip tightening slightly on her thighs. She gasped, leaning in closer to his face. He kissed her, feeling her glossed lips glide against his. For his first one, she noted how well he did. Using his tongue to open her mouth, eager to taste more once he finally had the opportunity. Their mouths felt warm and wet together, making George moan. She did as well, kissing down his jaw and making her way to his neck.  
"Oh, fuck-"  
He whispered, trembling under her skilled mouth that was sucking away. She giggled but continued, beginning to thrust into the swell that grew in his jeans.  
"So good."  
He groaned out. She sucked on his earlobe, and whispered seductively.  
"I hope I'm being a good girl, Sir."  
//////////  
John felt pathetic. How utterly tragic. Being under the thumb of his best friend. Why was he allowing Paul to do this to him? Too drunk to say no.  
"It pissed you off seeing those girl's crawl all over me didn't it?"  
Paul said, stroking John's cock faster. John shook his head, this being totally out of character for him. But he yelped anyway,  
"Yes it did Paulie!"  
Paul smiled, love seeing the powerful John Lennon crumble under his hand. Paul held his hand up to John's mouth, and he spit. Paul went back to work, but this had been going on for about 15 minutes and he wasn't going to last much longer. Paul knew this by how jittery his breaths were becoming. And how John was hugging him tight.  
"Don't be shy John, baby, cum for me."  
John could feel it coming, lifting up from Paul's neck and looking him in the eye. Paul admired his friend's features, face glistening in the streetlights. And John did the same for Paul, both of them holding intense eye contact.  
"So beautiful-"  
John groaned, shaking his head to insure he was cumming. Paul moved out of the way fast, letting him cum on the brick wall. Paul chuckled, watching John hunch over looking as if he might fall. So adorable, he was, when he wasn't being a prick. After a moment of catching his breath, John stood up. Paul brushed his hair from his face, resting his hand fondly on John's cheak. John wanted to kiss him. But somehow out of everything they had done together, that crossed the line for him. It seemed to ensure that this was something more than drunken encounters. But Paul knew what he was thinking, just by seeing the longing look in his eye. He didn't oppose, simply cocking a brow and welcoming anything John should do. John removed the want from his mind, and shook out of Paul's touch. Quickly zipping up his pants and buckling his belt back up. This was to no surprise for Paul, it was always baby steps for John.  
"Think I'll see that glorious cock of yours again anytime soon?"  
Paul asked. John couldn't help but burst out a short chuckle, shaking his head and smiling at the ground. This cheeky bastard. He grabbed Paul's collar, pulling him closer. Paul felt weightless in the grip of his strong friend, momentarily forgetting how John could man handle him so easily.  
"Shut your big mouth or I'll shut it for you-"  
His face was close to Paul's, and Paul loved feeling helpless.  
"Oh, please do!"  
He spat. Just as he did, the metal door they had been standing by swung open. The whole gang burst through, all laughing.  
"Oh John, no fighting tonight. Let go of Paul"  
Stuart said, making Astrid giggle. John looked at them, noticing the new blond clinging to George's side. John threw Paul, not hard. As he did he looked at George.  
"You certainly picked a pretty one, who's this?"  
John asked. Delilah held her head high, noticing an arrogant man when she saw one.  
"I'm Delilah. If you want to know who I am, ask me."  
John was in no mood to be tested, gritting his teeth. George grinned, liking her assertiveness. He enjoyed a strong woman, he then decided, wrapping his arm around her.  
"She's expecting a rock concert Johnny, let's not make her unhappy."  
They all formed a circle to discuss the night's plans, all pulling out a cigarette.  
"We're not performing tonight son, I done told you that. That other band is...fucking Rory and the something's-"  
John said, cancer-stick bobbing on his lips as he searched for his lighter. Delilah gripped onto George, smiling so happily.  
"The whole town talks about them! Say the drummer can certainly lay down a killer beat."  
She whispered to George. Paul heard her, finding what she said mildly interesting.  
"Speak up, Love. What's this about a drummer? What gives him the special reputation?"  
This peaked everyone's interest, except John who was still fumbling for his lighter. As Delilah began to explain, Paul lifted up his to John's lips. Their eye contact was heated, looking each other up and down. But Paul went back to Delilah, leaving John to beg for his attention back.  
"Well, the talk is he's dangerous. One of the girl's saw a performance of theirs and said he carried a blade with him-"  
"Yea and who doesn't?"  
John interrupted. Delilah could have sworn at him, but she kept her cool.  
"If you'd let me finish, Sir. You would have heard that he also pulls it on anyone who even tries to touch his drum set."  
The gang made eyes at each other, all a bit shocked. He meant business, they all supposed.  
"Seems a bit harsh, don't ya think?"  
Pete said. John groaned, acting out like a toddler. Paul of course noticed, not giving him the attention he wanted. He continued to smoke his cigarette, making John even more pissed. Delilah was shocked with how ill-mannered he was. George would surely have to apologize later. Stuart already did his share of apologizing to Astrid in the bar. When you first meet John he's a lot to handle, and you can either love his dramatics or find them tedious. It was certainly driving Delilah up the wall, as she found herself biting her tongue.  
"Yeah? Well I'll pull a knife of any one of you's if this conversation goes on any longer. Astrid can we go?"  
Astrid was amused by John's outbursts, smiling as she got out her key's.  
"To the van everyone!"


	8. Maybe there's a reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically. They're all bisexual af. That's it. That's the whole chapter.  
> Also sorry if the music dialogue is kinda lame, I've never included actual music lyrics in a story. But this is literally about the Beatles, it should be expected

While walking into the hotel, everyone could hear the massive crowd that formed in the hotel's bar. Along with a bar, there was a stage with instruments that was awaiting the band that was to come. The gang was walking in on sound check, seeing young men maybe a bit older than they were twiddling on basses and guitars. And another speaking into the microphone again and again getting it ready.   
"We never take this long to get ready."  
John bragged, and for once he was actually accurate. They were all ready normally when the crowd had gotten this thick. George gathered the reason they could get away with taking so long was because the band on the stage had more credit with the people, having played much longer than they have.   
"Well, maybe it's good to make sure everything's ready."  
Delilah said, as George pulled her chair out for her. They all sat down, and Stuart did the same for Astrid's chair. John made a note he didn't particularly like the mouthy bird George had chosen, and was glad she wasn't his actual girlfriend. George found it funny how John rolled his eyes every time she sassed off to him. Delilah scooted her chair closer to George, hugging up to him. On the stage, everything seemed to be ready to go, except one thing. No drummer.   
"I'm never late like this, am I John?"  
Pete asked, poking fun at the band. John crossed his arms, hating to wait for music. He shook his head no,  
"Never, I wouldn't let ya play drums if you did."  
Every one giggled. Delilah's nose was resting in the nape of George's neck, and her lips were close to his ear. She was casually kissing, still affectionately hugging him. He felt a bit awkward, never having done this around people. But no one seemed to care, so he tried to relax. And right when he actually felt super comfortable, he felt the urge that no one wanted to feel while getting more hickeys on their neck.   
"Um. Before the band starts, I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back, guys and gals."  
He smiled fondly at Delilah, as she did back. He walked to the hallway by the stage, all the while, he heard the band exchanging harsh words.   
"Where the hell is Richie?!"  
"How am I supposed to know? He comes when he wants to?!"  
George chuckled, making his way further down the hall, stopping at the bathroom. As he walked in, no one was in there so he thought. As he unbuckled his belt at a urinal, he heard voices coming from a stall. Before doing his business, he turned his head to the stalls, seeing under them the feet of a man and a woman who was on her knees. George quickly turned his head, covering his mouth not to burst out laughing. Hamburg really was something else. He sat and felt dirty for listening to the two in there, hearing moans coming from the woman. After a while it all went silent, and George heard.   
"Ah, good job, darling. Always love fucking your throat."  
George couldn't believe it. Another person from Britain? A super kinky person from Britain, but a person nonetheless. They weren't the only one's running away from how boring the place was. He heard the girl giggle cutely,  
"No, thank you Richie!"  
Richie? The drummer! George quickly went about his business, turning back to the urinal as they walked out of the stall. The girl quickly ran out, heels hitting the hard floor. George felt anxious, but with everything going well tonight for him. He decided to see what was so dangerous about this drummer. And as he got done, he flushed and went to the sinks with the man named Richard. He was adjusting his hair, it being styled much like George's was.   
"They need ya on stage, y'kno."  
George said, running the water and getting soap. Richard, still looking in the mirror, looked at George through it.  
"And who are you?"  
He asked, while George half assed washing his hands. He turned off the water and started wiping his hands on his pants.  
"No one special, just everyone's kinda waiting."  
George said, making Richard turn and look at him properly. George was caught off guard, just now seeing how intimidating the man was. He wasn't very tall, but he was threatening. Wearing a leather jacket with colored design's at the collar. Leather jeans hugged his legs tightly, and his hands were covered in thick rings. But that wasn't what was intimidating about him. But just the way he carried himself, the look in this eye. It made George lose his train of thought.  
"You certainly look like someone special, what's your name?"  
George gulped, hearing his deep voice. Was he coming onto him? George couldn't decipher, only focusing on the man's plump lip's, that was brought out by a thin moustache that connected with a beard that lined his jaw. He noticed his extremely defined nose, being the focus point of his face. And..oh God his eyes. They were Big and blue, and eyeing George so intensely. So confidently, like George didn't just catch him getting head in a public bathroom. The kind of confidence that George could only dream of having.  
"Blue-"  
George said in response to his name, and his eyes widened in embarrassment.   
"George! Harrison… I'm George Harrison."  
Richard smiled at George's flustered face. He eyed him up and down, making George feel like a bug under a microscope. Richie was a very bold man for his time, always taking time to appreciate a good looking man just as well as a woman. He of course didn't do it often, only to the ones that especially caught his eye. And if they seemed to be of friendly nature, and George definitely seemed like a sweetheart to everyone he met.  
"George Harrison. I've heard that name, you're with the week band. Silver Beatles?"  
He pulled out his cigarette carton, taking out two. He put one between his lips, and George eyed how sultry it looked hanging from his perfectly shaped mouth. Richie stepped closer, holding the other ciggie to George's lips. George took it in, eyes glued to Richie. His mouth felt close to a water-fall, anxious not to embarrass himself in front of this glorious man before him. He shook his head yes to his question, and Richard couldn't hardly keep himself from kissing the boy for being so damn cute. Looking like a puppy with his wide eyes and pink cheeks. Rich stepped back, lighting his own cigarette, and George couldn't move, being paralyzed with unexpected arousal.   
"Come here, baby boy."  
He whispered and set his hand gently on the back of George's neck, other hand putting his lighter away. George followed his hand, lighting his ciggie with the end of Richie's. Their faces were close, and ultimately so were their bodies. George felt comfortable with a man he's never met before, feeling like he was putting some kind of spell on him. Rich leaned back only a little, as he did so smoke flourished between them. It only made George more dizzy, and it made Richard want him more as he saw him through smoke that normally would make someone look unbecoming. But it just made him look more irresistible. He lifted George's collar, revealing more of the dark purple mark on his neck that was rather huge. He made him grin, wishing he could add to it. Oh how he wished he could. Honestly if he didn't have a concert to perform he more than likely would. George parted his lips, feeling him lightly caress his neck. It made him shiver.  
"I hope you'll stay for the show. Wait up for me afterwards. Only if the person who gave you this doesn't mind."  
He said. George took a long drag from his ciggie, lifting his hand to take it. And Richie just couldn't catch a break with this kid, even his hands were attractive. Long and veiny, they looked like they held immense skill.   
"Doesn't seem like there's going to be one if you don't get your ass out there. And they don't care, trust me. Just met her tonight."  
Richard laughed, and George was hit in the face with his contagious smile. Rich started stepping back, gesturing his head for him to follow. He did so, as they walked out into the hallway. The crowd had gotten bigger, and they stayed silent on the short walk to the stage. Before making his way to the top, leaving George. He turned back and smirked before saying to him.   
"Keep your eyes on me. I'll keep my eyes on you."  
George shook his head eagerly, before they both made their way back to their separate lives. It was difficult to remain calm, George had never felt like this. No one had ever charmed him so much by doing so little. As he sat down back next to Delilah, the crowd squealed at the top of their lungs as Richard got on stage. The boys around him looked relieved, the one at the microphone saying.   
"Fan favorite Richard Starkey finally has decided to join us."   
He sat down at his set, taking his drumsticks in his hands and winking to the crowd. No one could tell but he was looking for a certain guitarist. Finally finding him, he gave him a sexy grin that made George loose proper focus.   
"George!"  
Paul yelled, knocking him back into reality. He snatched his head to him.   
"Astrid asked why it took you so long, haven't you any manners?"  
George looked at her, feeling Delilah hug around him once more.   
"I'm sorry, Astrid, I was miles away. I just got caught up, I met the drummer in the bathroom. Had a short convo."  
This made John snap into action,  
"Is he as tough as the stories tell? Considering you haven't a bloody nose I'd say not."  
George lifted his cigarette and took a drag.   
"No..we didn't say much. He just-"  
And right then the room was flooded with music. It was a simple riff, slow and low that made everyone go quiet. They suspected it was just a tester to get everyone in line.   
"Now, gather round cats now. Tell you a little story on how to become an all American boy."  
The singer sang, accent making an interesting sound. Almost like he was just speaking to the audience. George watched as Richie was playing a subtle beat, that could hardly be heard. He looked bored, eyes staying on George. Delilah began kissing his neck again, hand going for his thigh. Richard's eyes didn't leave him, and it made him grow even more hot.   
"Buy you a guitar an', put it in tune an' you'll be rockin' and rollin' soon."  
He continued, and the beat didn't pick up. It could almost be described as spoken poetry with a soft beat. John wasn't amused,  
"Too slow.."  
He complained to the group, keeping his voice low. Paul somewhat agreed, but still was interested due to the contents of the words he was saying.  
"You're impressin' the girl's. With your hot lips, an all that jazz."  
The guitar got ever so slightly louder, but not enough to be taken aback by. John watched the singer almost stumble, obviously being drunk. He couldn't say anything about that though, he's done the same shit. But he did feel confident that they could play circles around them. Paul was listening to the story. Stuart couldn't keep his eyes off Astrid. And Pete was just focused on getting a beer, as he walked off to get drunk.   
"Well I bought me a guitar. One year ago. Learned how to play it in a day or so. All over town, near and far I was knockin' em' out like Johnny guitar."   
George was on fire. Feeling this skilled woman's hands playing at his cock, and this enticing man eyeing him like he was candy. Not even paying attention to playing the drums, but hitting everything in time so perfectly like he was born to do it.   
"Rockin' Rollin'. They dig me, I'm number one! Well I practice all day, up until night. My pop's hair was turnin' white. He didn't dig my rock n roll he said "You can stay boy, if you get off the door".   
Paul had decided it was interesting, but John was right. Would do it good to pick up the pace just a bit. He turned to his friend,  
"You're right y'kno."  
He said. John turned to him, the tension between them the same as it was in the alleyway. As it will stay always.   
"I know."  
He said, holding so much power in those two words. It was like he always seemed to have the upper hand, at least with Paul. Did Paul like that? Not always, but right now it made him want to sit in his lap again. For something as silly as a musical agreement, but that seemed to be all it took for them to start eye fucking eachother.   
"He's a square. Didn't dig me at all. Nope. So I took my guitar, picks an all. And said goodbye to my home n' pop."  
Everyone at the table had their eyes on someone. Stuart and Astrid. John and Paul. Delilah's eyes were closed, but George was still looking at Richard. Paul had to give the band credit, the pace of the song was good for something. Just slow enough to kiss too. He saw everyone in the room glued to another, and he desperately wanted to join them. Astrid found herself feeling the same effects Paul was, and Stuart noticed she was giving him a special stare. John looked over to notice even they were sharing a kiss. There's was much more short, and sweet than the one's around them. John quickly looked back at Paul, eye's desperately pleading for him. John darted his eyes back and forth from here to the bathroom. Paul knew what he was saying, and shook his head to agree. They got up, casually walking next to the stage. John, while walking, picked up a discarded chair no one was using and kept his pace fast. No one noticed, and if they did no one cared. Paul waited by the door for John, and he went in first. As Paul was shutting the door, John was taking off his jacket. Sick of trying to act like he didn't want this. He didn't even wait to put the chair on the door to keep it closed, throwing his jacket in a sink before quickly walking to Paul.   
"Come here, Paulie-"  
He attacked his mouth, shoving him against the door with his body. It was mostly a pelvic move, so they met in the middle. Their lips smacked, and Paul wrapped his arms around John's neck. John loved the way he tasted, tongue warm and wet. Paul moaned freely, finally being alone. It was everything he imagined. John was everything he wanted.   
"You taste like sweetness. Oh God, how I've wanted this-"  
John groaned in between kisses, Paul moaned more, earning a thrust from John. The music could still be heard in the background, the low rumble encouraging them. John's hands went to Paul's ass, squeezing it like he'd always wanted to. Paul gasped, ending it with a whine. John growled and went for Paul's neck, sucking like he was lathered with honey. Still handling his ass, he began lifting Paul slowly. The higher he got he rougher he kissed and thrusted.   
"Oh John!...John...Johnny!!-"  
Paul moaned as he lifted him in the air, John's hands settling more on the back of his thighs.   
"You sound like a bird when you moan like that- fuck, say my name."  
Paul's thighs were shaking in his hands, and he did as he was told.  
"Johnny."  
He moaned again, and John didn't want to hear anyone else say his name like that again in his life. They kissed more, less like attacking now. It was slower, more passionate. They took their time, noting everything they loved about it. Paul loved feeling John's subtle stubble every time his lips hit above or below his. John loved how soft Paul was, but even so he could feel the difference between him and a woman. They weren't even breathing, not wanting to stop anytime soon. But the laws of human nature were against them, and John quickly lifted up. They catched their breath, not looking away from each other. John rested his forehead against Paul's, closing his eyes to relax.   
"You can..put me down now."  
Paul said, making them both laugh together. John put him down gently, stepping away to get some distance between them. They were still panting, because they maybe took only two breaths that entire time. John's shoulders felt heavy, stomach filled with anxiety. He hated feeling this, and the fact he had given into what he wanted. And while Paul's mind was filled with bliss, his was filled with growing worry. He couldn't stop himself wanting more either, and that made it worse. Looking at Paul with swollen lips, that was caused by him. His hair was disheveled and his doe eyes were looking back at him.  
"God damnit Paul."  
He muttered. Paul knew something was wrong, if he didn't fix it soon John would get pissed. Paul rolled his eyes. There was always something with John. Something to make him angry or worried. Talk about an anxiety problem.   
"What is it John, what's the matter now?"  
He scrunched up his legs, still resting on the bathroom door. But John didn't feel like fighting.   
"This! God, Paul! Do you not care at all? We're going around like a couple of fags, acting like if we get caught everything will be fine and dandy-"  
Paul rolled his eyes again, certainly being more sassy than normal. Perhaps because he was horny and just wanted John back on his neck.   
"John, do you like women? I know you do. I do too. So we're not fag's. And even so, that's a shit way to act about it. We're people first of all, and people shouldn't have to go around hiding who they are or what they do."  
John shook his head, wiping sweat from his upper lip, crossing his arms after.  
"Paul, you don't understand. People kill people over this. I've seen men get the tar kicked out of them just because they thought- they had just a tiny little inkling he was gay…"  
He had a point. He certainly did, but that didn't make it a good one. Paul walked to John, putting a hand on his shoulder. This was just something John was going to have to trust him with. Paul would never do anything to hurt John, even if sometimes he really felt like he should.   
"You're right. You're always right, but what you don't understand is we can't help what world we live in. You're trying to fight the way you feel, for what? You've never given a shit about what anyone thinks, Lennon. That's what attracted me to you in the first place. And if you're afraid of getting caught-"  
Paul paused, grabbing the long forgotten object beside them.  
"That's why you brought a chair."  
He walked back to the door and set it just right at the knob, ensuring no one will be interrupting. John laughed, even though he was still a bit nervous. He knew Paul wanted to do more, but he couldn't. They had been in there for more than 10 minutes, the band was already playing upbeat and the crowd was getting crazy. They shouldn't stay too much longer in there, the band was bound to be suspicious.   
"Alrighty Paulie you win, but let's just go back. I haven't got the energy."  
Paul was truly shocked. John Lennon turning down the opportunity to get frisky? He definitely needed to relax. And Paul knew just what to do. He'd never done it before, but then again these past few days, he'd done a lot of things he'd never done before. He walked to John again, giving him one last hungry kiss. That was enough to relax John further, until he felt Paul kiss down his neck. Hands exploring his lower back..and going lower.   
"Paul?"  
John questioned as he felt him go to his knees. As Paul got down there John backed away, making him stumble. Paul always loved a challenge. And seeing the stumbling man with the flushed face in front of him. His white shirt that gripped to his chest as it was heaving up and down from jumping breaths. He was determined. He wanted more than to just kiss this man, he wanted to taste all of him. And remember, Paul McCartney was just about everyone's type.   
"Oh, what Johnny? Playing hard to get, dear?"  
John growled in frustration, sticking his hand out to stop the man crawling toward him.   
"I'm serious Paul!"  
He yelled. Paul knew better, if he was serious he would have walked out the door by now. John was still backing away, right into a wall. He stood beside the urinals as Paul scoffed.   
"Now, I'm not blowing you next to the bloody piss pots!"  
John's face scrunched up  
"You're not blowing me at all!!"  
Paul finally got up, grabbing John by the shirt and pushing him to the opposite wall. John uncontrollably let out a moan as he hit the brick and they both stopped in their tracks. Widened eyes looking at each other, and Paul giggled. John was just as surprised as he was.   
"Looks like I'm not the only one who likes getting man handled. Alright, where was I-"  
He said, unbuckling John's belt. Before pulling it down, he felt to make sure he was right in his assumptions that John was throbbing hard.   
"Haven't got the energy, huh?"  
Paul asked, kneeling down and pulling John's pants down with him. John was pissed. But seeing Paul down there, ready and willing. He wasn't going to say no.   
"Fuck you."  
"Close. Let's start with my mouth, love."  
//////////  
George was impressed. Not so much with the band overall but with this man whose eyes always made their way back to him. George admittedly didn't know a lot about drumming as a whole, but he knew what it was supposed to sound like. And from his ears, nothing was wrong with his drumming at all. As for everything else, well, the guitar was having trouble keeping in beat. The bass sounded out of tune just a bit. And the singer was piss poor drunk. Just Richard was perfect. The night went like a fever dream, George getting drink after drink. Afterall, they were free for bands that performed there. And Richard noted in his hand how much he loved the flushed cheeks and nose of the drunk lad. And how embarrassed he looked to have him look at him while Delilah was whispering in his ear sexy images.   
"Thank you so much"   
She finally said, before finally relaxing and leaning her head on his shoulder. George cocked a brow.  
"For what, love?"  
He asked. She put her hand on top of his.   
"This night has been wonderful."  
George didn't understand, all they had done basically was sit and kiss and watched people dance to fast music. Even Astrid and Stuart had long made their way to the dance floor, along with Pete and a random bird. He always had no trouble finding girls, for some reason. He honestly could be quite daft at times and no one knew why any girl would go for him. Good looks? Well, he wasn't ugly. George looked at her,   
"Would you like to dance with me?"  
He asked. She smiled shyly, shaking her head yes. George never danced, always thinking his body was too long and awkward to do so. But he knew it would make her happier, and she deserved it. He got up and took her hand, and went to the dance floor along with countless other couples. He was drunk so he couldn't do much to stay in beat, really what he was doing could be called "sit and lightly move while you watch a pretty girl dance her skirt off" Delilah wanted to loosen the stiff boy up, so she took his hands and guided him in a simple dance. George laughed at his attempts but she was having so much fun she didn't care. This went on for one or two songs. Until the singer spoke up,  
"Okay everyone, we're getting to the end of our performance. I hope we showed you a great time."  
This set off a number a loud screams in the crowd,   
"But, as we lighten the mood. Let us get close to that special someone."  
They started playing a smooth song, and everyone calmed down. George couldn't believe what song it was, and how ironic it may have seemed.   
"Frankie Valli."  
Delilah said, and she was right. George smiled down at her, and took her hand for a nice simple slow dance. And she was right, this was Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. "Can't take my eyes off of you" to be exact. And as Delilah laid her head on his chest, George knew he would be met with the same eye contact he'd had all night.   
"You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you. You'd be like heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much"  
The words pierced it's way into George's mind, just as Richards eyes did. They had been eye fucking eachother all night, but this was not the same. His ocean blue eyes looked so sweet, like every word the singer said was explaining how he felt. The entire song they looked at eachother, both too hypnotized to look away. Richie was so enthralled he even was slipping up one or two times. George cocked a brow every time he did, and Richard would be lying if he said that sexy look in George's eye didn't almost make concentration impossible. And when the song ended, George knew he had to speak with him again. The crowd was dispersing, and George felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look and it was John and Paul.   
"Hate to interrupt this touching moment, but I don't want to stay and listen to them put away the instruments."  
John said. George looked down at Delilah, then back at John.  
"Um, Paul. Will you please take Delilah to our room? And make sure John stays on his best behavior."  
Delilah looked up at him,   
"What will you be doing?"  
She asked. George snapped an answer back fast, having a great skill in lying from being around Lennon too much.   
"I'll be up soon with the drinks, I promise. Paul doesn't bite, but do stay away from John, he might."  
Paul politely took her hand, and gave a cheeky wink,  
"Don't worry, pretty girl. I'll protect you from mean 'ol Lennon."  
George quickly walked to the hallway beside the stage, still lingering with a person or two. Some couples were leaning against the wall and making out. No Richard to be seen. George knew he'd have some explaining to do when he got back to the room, due to the fact he practically ran in the opposite direction from where they got their drinks. But he didn't want to leave too soon, so he walked deeper down the hallway, passed the bathrooms. It was a dead end, so there wasn't much left to do. By then everyone had gone back to their own hotel rooms, or were forced to leave by hotel staff. George leaned against the wall, looking down at the ground. He felt stupid.   
"I'm a little late and you look like I ran over your cat."  
George's head snapped to look at the end of the hallway. The silhouette of the drummer casting a shadow on the hall lights. As he got closer, George met him halfway.   
"And for the record, I asked to meet in the bathroom-"  
He grabbed George's collar, and pulled him to the door. George didn't know what was about to happen, but after the night he had he was down for absolutely anything. Well, so he thought anyway. Closing the door, they both notice the random chair in the middle of the floor. They both looked at it and burst out laughing.   
"What the hell is that doing here?"  
George choked out, and Richard shrugged his shoulders. As the laughs died down, Richard looked at him.   
"Who's the girl you're with?"  
He asked. A pretty reasonable question. George honestly didn't know how to explain that he got a prostitute. So he pondered for a moment,  
"Um...well would you judge me if I told the truth?"  
He asked back. Richard shook his head no and leaned against a sink, as George did the same for the one beside his.  
"She's a prostitute."  
He said plainly. Richard wasn't surprised at all by the fact that it was a prostitute, but really only because George didn't need services like that.   
"A pretty boy like you, getting prostitutes? Have you seen yourself, lad?"  
George rolled his eyes with a smile. But to keep from showing Richie how much that made butterflies flutter in his stomach, he looked down to the ground.   
"I've never really tried to get a bird, Rich."  
He mumbled, confused as to where this encounter was going.   
"Well you see the thing with that is, maybe there's a reason."  
Richard said, cocking his head over to the young man. George didn't entirely know what he meant, but thinking for a moment it seemed a bit clearer. Did George even fancy women? Well considering what he'd already done with Delilah back at the brothel, the answer seemed obvious. But his infatuation with this intoxicating drummer next to him had been so short, but affected him so much. It seemed he must have had some sort of attraction to men too, but not really. Just him. When Richard didn't get an answer, he decided maybe it was about the time to lighten the mood. No worries, he was great at that.   
"And the thing with my name-"  
He began, George cracked a smile.   
"Richard?"  
He asked. The man gave him a reassuring nod,  
"Richard Starkey. The band thinks I'm an amazing drummer. Hardly ever make mistakes. The crowd loves me, there's just one tiny little problem."  
Rich puckered out his bottom lip and gave George a sad look, earning him a giggle. And he decided that's what he would spend the rest of his life doing. Trying to make George Harrison laugh.   
"The name Richard Starkey sounds like a businessman. Not a rock n roller. But, no problem. A lot of performers use a stage name, but what?"  
George shrugged, thinking a moment.   
"Is there anything you've come up with?"  
Richard shook his head yes,  
"Well, we've decided to keep my initials. You've got to have some sort of familiarity with my actual name. And even came up with a last name. Starr. Starkey, Starr. See I'm tryin' to be clever."  
George cocked a brow, seemed good so far.   
"What about a first name? Any ideas?"  
He asked. Richard groaned, puckering his lip again.   
"That's what I needed help with, you see. I've thought up "Dingo" "Dango" a mate of mine said I should just keep my first name "Richie" and just have it "Richie Starr" but that's not good."  
Richard explained. And George thought shortly. He jumped up from the sink, urging Richie to do the same. He sat and examined him,   
"What's going on in that head, love?"  
He asked. George held his hands out to look at Richard through the small box his fingers made.   
"Well, you've gotten every aspect of yourself. Your initials. Your last name. Now we've got to look at you physically to see if we can get any inspiration."  
After looking for another few seconds, he noticed one of the first things that caught his attention about the man.   
"Rings.."  
He said. Richard cocked his head like a confused puppy.   
"Rings?"  
He held up his hands, letting George have easy access in taking one in his grasp.   
"Dingo.. Dango...Ring? Ringo!"  
George exclaimed. Richard was dumbfounded, Feeling his calloused hands fumble around his rings. He's been trying for months to come up with a silly stage name, and the first day he meets this clever boy he's hatched the perfect one.   
"Ringo.. Starr?"  
Richard said out loud, resting his hand on George's cheek. He couldn't help it, he was utterly astounded. George gulped, the cool sting on his rings leaving goosebumps on his skin.   
"You like it?"  
He asked him. Richard did, he loved it in fact. But considering the answer to that question was obvious, he just shook his head lightly.   
"I like you."  
Richard said back. George chuckled, laying his hand on Richie's.  
"Yeah?"  
He whispered. Richie's eyes went serious, nodding his head. If he wasn't so serious about his attraction for him he would have already kissed him by now. But even knowing him for maybe 4 hours he knew George was shy. Not verbally but just about that kinda thing.   
"Yeah."  
He answered. George has had this kind of encounter two other times. And the only way to explain it was, finding a piece of a puzzle. Like his life was meant to be lived with Richard. And the two other puzzle pieces he had found were Paul and John. And somehow the puzzle seemed complete, but not put together. If it was or not, George knew he would have Richie in his life from now on. If he was distant, or he was right there. Same with John and Paul.   
"Well, Ringo Starr. The thing with that is, maybe there's a reason."


	9. "Relax."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to write this chaper in between school assignments, but since I just "graduated" highschool the posts should be more consistent. That being said, the quality might not be as good as you're used to. Due to me having to stop and start at random, but I did my best to make it flow as if I had sat down and wrote it from start to finish. Happy reading ❤✌ P.S. due to the boredom quarantine has given me I made a tik tok. The name is Babybeats8 so check it out, only if you're interested

Ringo had told him he would go by that name till the day he died. George thought it was an exaggeration, walking down the endless halls in the hotel. He wasn't as nervous as he thought he would be, steps away from shagging a prostitute. He had to make a stop at the bar and grab some whiskey so he wouldn't be a liar. It was a bit awkward, walking around with his arms filled with glass bottles that were clanking together. A concert brought a lot of delinquents, and delinquents brought the presence of police. George had passed two on his way up, and if anything he was nervous about that. He was seventeen and carrying enough alcohol to cripple a life-long alcoholic for days. A few gave him weird looks, but he learned from John that if cops were onto you. Don't let them see you worried. So George just walked like nothing was wrong. As he got closer to their room, he heard John and Paul laughing and playing instruments. Pretty sloppily, if George was honest. He knocked on the door, and listened to the music stop as he waited for the door to open. John greeted him, his smile spread big on his face.  
"We almost gave up on you, Georgie."  
He said, and George walked in. John took the bottles from his hands, while Paul still was entertaining Delilah.   
"Johnny n Me heard this song on the radio a couple of days ago, love. It was a real smasher, went like-"  
He got up and started dancing, A fit of giggles being heard from the bubbly bird.   
"Shake it to the left! Shake it to the right. Do the hippy shake shake with all of your might!! Well goodness shake!"  
John cheered him on while opening up a bottle.   
"That's right, that's right! It was great, had a real good sound. Bet we could do better though, couldn't we Macca?"  
George grinned, but his anxiety was finally setting in, just by seeing Delilah. He then realized..they didn't have a separate room to go into. His stomach felt like it hit the floor when the thought crossed his mind. What was he supposed to do? Shag her in front of his two friends? Well he's actually supposed to have four friends.  
"Where's Stuart and Pete?"  
George asked. John handed some filled shot glasses around he had gotten by stealing from the hotel bar no doubt.   
"Stu went home with Astrid. And Pete, well. Do we ever know what Pete is doing?"  
John answered. Great. Alone, with John and Paul. And he was going to have to sleep with this woman that he wasn't even entirely attracted to. George thought she was beautiful, of course. But his mind seemed miles from where it was supposed to be. He had to explain to Delilah his situation. Or, more or less their situation.   
"Delilah, can I have a quick word with you out in the hall. Please, dear."   
The two of them went to the hall, while the other two continued to joke and sing together. Paul watched as George awkwardly shut the door behind him, and turned to John. Paul lifted up his glass so he could refill it for him. Both stared for a moment, and John refilled his glass as well. They were silent but somehow they still were smiling. At nothing, seemingly. But Paul knew John and him were smirking at each other, feeling the heat and tension amongst the two of them. Many feet were in between, but they still felt endless attraction for one another. And Paul felt the heat build up in himself as his friend took the shot effortlessly, clenching his jaw at the sting. It was something he saw him do several times, but after actually paying attention, it hit Paul differently.   
"You are a sexy mother fucker, Lennon."  
He stumbled out. Although he stumbled it out, the words gave John a feeling of satisfaction. Reassurance, if you will. That Paul had the exact same amount of attraction he did for him. It was "unwanted". It was "unfortunate". And at times, uncontrollable. John went for his collar, like he's done thousands of times. But he tested Paul's boundaries, tilted his aim a little to the side. John's hand wrapped comfortably around Paul's neck. The feeling was exhilarating for both, and John guided Paul closer to him.   
"You really can't help yourself, can you?"  
He whispered, tightening his grip ever so slightly. It was frightening at this point for Paul, so his hand jumped at John's wrist. John didn't know why he wanted to do this. Perhaps it was total control he wanted, but it made his blood pump like lightning through his veins seeing Paul helpless before him.   
"John-"  
Paul choked out, hand tugging relentlessly at John's wrist. And the man was snapped from his day dream he didn't even realize he was in. Without recollection, he must have tightened his hand around Paul further. He quickly removed it from Paul's neck, and he breathed rapidly as he felt his head go dizzy from lack of air. It was a weird feeling, almost like he was high. John's grip was so tight he swore he could see black dots that were still lingering even after John released him it left Paul almost limp, staggering to keep standing. It made him feel absolutely possessed, helpless and in need of controlling. John felt terrible, being in one of his drunken moods. He couldn't properly control his reflexes, and Paul had suffered because of it.  
"Macca- Paulie I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"  
John was silenced by Paul's state. He was flushed, and visibly excited. He didn't understand, but they seemed somehow okay with figuring out things about each other together. Paul, shot still in hand, poured it down his throat. Delilah and George could be heard giggling outside, so both decided to stop whatever was about to happen. While outside, George explained to Delilah  
"We're going to have to have sex in the room with my friends, I'm sorry."  
He finally blurted after trying to find a nicer, but vaguely put way of saying it. This wasn't a real surprise,  
"That's fine, George. I've done it with an audience many times."  
George was dumbfounded by this young of a woman being so sexually experienced. But instead of dwelling he kept the conversation moving.   
"Alright. Now to the basics, if it isn't clear we're not in the best financial state so we haven't the money for essential items such as-"  
As he was about to say it, Delilah lifted her purse. George shut his mouth as she reached in and pulled out a condom.   
"This is my job, darling. I'm prepared. Anything else?"  
George could only think of one thing. It should at least be said once, he thought it her right to know.   
"Um...Well, I don't know if this will alter anything or change your mind. Hardly think it matters really, but it's the reason I'm in this mess anyway-"  
George started to ramble to postpone the inevitable. Delilah understood, being as thoughtful as she could with the boy. But it was a bit annoying to see him so jittery about something she had been exposed to for quite some time. But she did her best to bite her tongue.   
"I'm..a-"  
"George, it's obvious!"  
She finally blurted, after he had struggled to say it for a minute or two. His face went white, and his lips shut. That was his fear, honestly. He hated being one. He hated being the odd one out in literally every friend group he's ever been in. But, he was relieved that after tonight it would all change.   
"Can I ask something of you?"  
He inquired, and Delilah raised her brows.   
"Even…"  
He was unsure of how to word it. But he gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath.   
"If I'm not tip top shape, would you please over exaggerate how I do? I'm really only doing this to get my mate John in there off my back, and I know he'll shut his mouth real good if he thinks I'm good in bed."  
Delilah giggled. 'Typical men' she thought. But she shook her head yes with a smile. It was actually adorable how much George was nervous, now that she thought about it. Of course at first she was met with annoyance, but when she took a moment to take into consideration where George had come from. His background, and personality, it really didn't bother her anymore. Actually, she felt a bit bad for blurting out what she had known, but quickly moved on as George didn't seem as hurt as she feared.   
"You shouldn't expect so much out of yourself, George."  
She said, keeping her words soft. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and they took a moment to gaze at one another. It seemed they both had a pretty good understanding that they would never see each other again after this night. Their lives were polar opposites, but they're doing each other a favor. George showed her respect. And, to put it bluntly, Delilah is going to get George laid. Not to mention, he's George Harrison. So, a couple years down the road she'll definitely be able to remember and appreciate this night.   
"Shall we, Georgie?"  
She said, tilting her head to the door. With a pounding heart, and heated head, George said yes and followed her in. John and Paul were sitting on the couch, looking over song books and had guitars in hand. They had hardly noticed the pair walk in, only glancing. Their eyes immediately returned to their pages afterwards. Delilah started to walk to a bed, but George stood at the door. His face was white and terrified. Delilah stopped in her tracks, and went back to George. He felt her lips graze his cheek until she made her way to his ear. He fell to the door, shivering under her touch.   
"Relax."  
She breathed out. His mouth shut tight after feeling her hot mouth lick and sloppily kiss at his jawline. He was certainly relaxing now, as he melted in her hands. She leaned back, taking his wrist lightly.  
"Come on."  
She guided, as they walked to one of the mattresses. John and Paul at this time, looked up at each other from their papers and grinned slyly. 'This will be interesting' John thought to himself. They watched the two before them, at first they sat and Delilah removed his jacket. George couldn't concentrate, feeling the prying eyes of his friends. John noticed George kept darting his eyes back and forth between them and Delilah.   
"Focus on 'er, lad. Not us."  
He said, as they adjusted in the bed. After George relaxed on the wall, Delilah sat next to him and helped him relax. His eyes closed as their lips connected once more, feeling her comforting mouth. He laid his hand on the back of her head, softly pulling her in closer, deepening the kiss. Feeling her tongue graze his lips, he let her in his mouth with a low groan. As things were heating up, the pair on the couch couldn't help but take slight notice. Following the groan, Delilah made her way to George's lap. John shamelessly looked as George's hand started to make it up her back under her shirt. Paul noticed John's attention was away from the lyrics they were writing, rolling his eyes. He took a stack he had in his hands and hit it against his arm, and John flinched and looked his way.   
"Don't look at them."  
Paul whispered. He felt bad George was in this situation, knowing the boy was doing this because he felt pressured. And he didn't want John pressuring him any more. John scoffed and took it as Paul was jealous, or at least he hoped he was.   
"Don't worry, you're much prettier than her."  
He said as he leaned into Paul's ear. Paul shoved him away lighty, annoyed at John's sarcasm. But John noted how he smiled, and knew for a fact he was somewhat right. Across the room, George finally felt at ease. Feeling Delilah lightly thrusting against his clothed manhood as they got hotter and hotter. It was almost too much, but she stopped once in a while when she felt him tense up. Delilah sat up from the make out session and removed her shirt, leaving her in just a bralette. George's eyes went wide, and John grinned watching the boy experience everything for the first time.   
"Here we go."  
John mumbled to Paul. Paul didn't like it, but there wasn't much else to do but watch. No t.v. No radio. Just a shadowy room filled with soft moans and smacking lips at this point. Paul began to look as well, watching someone he genuinely considered to be his kid brother explore the feminine physique. And explore would be an understatement. George was past the point of shyness, or asking permission. He began kissing and sucking at every inch of Delilah. Well, every inch he could reach. She honestly didn't expect this, she was used to her doing all of the pleasuring. But as George sucked and gently kissed her neck and chest, she raised up slightly so George could reach her breasts. He stopped for a second, leaving the two on the couch on edge as they awaited to see what he would do. He seemed to be recoiling, afraid he had been too bold. Delilah saw the overstimulation in his eyes, and petted his head to relax him.   
"Go on, Sir. Here, I'll help you."  
She undid the back of her bralette and let it slide off. Discarding it to the side, George's nagging anxiety left once more. He plunged his face in between them with an excited moan, earning a cute giggle from Delilah. John couldn't help but laugh too, seeing the boy unravel.   
"They're nice aren't they, Georgie."  
George heard John call out. His mind was filled with so much numbing ecstasy he wasn't even mad at his outburst. Instead of telling him to sod off, he unexpectedly let out pitiful whines as he blatantly rubbed his face deeper into Delilah's breasts. This shifted the mood, somehow causing John to shut up for once. George continued, landing his mouth on one of her erect nipples. This caused her breath to hitch, and she moaned further as he swirled his tongue around it. John and Paul didn't know what to do, the heat of the moment starting to get to them too. It got worse when Delilah quickly removed George's shirt, his chest flushed red. George was amazed at the feeling of warm skin on his, her soft texture left him wanting. When she went back to kissing his lips, he also noted how good breasts felt against him as well. Nope. He wasn't gay. Not in a million years. He was certain of it now. Wanting to explore more, he sneaked his hands up her skirt. She yelped, pressing her ass against his touch just right.   
"Fuck.."  
John murmured. Let it be known that John was more of an ass man, and seeing that display sealed the deal. His hand went to his protruding swell, and Paul tried to stay strong as he watched both of his friends succumb to the evil demons known as hormones. It wasn't easy for him, because normally Paul was the one encouraging the sexual acts. But something about this time seemed a bit too far. Watching as the bird got up, the boys kept their eyes glued to her. Knowing she had an audience, she shook off the skirt with a smirk. She looked at the two on the couch, seeing their glazed eyes and feverish expressions.   
"Enjoying the show, boys?"  
She asked, giving her chest a lewd shake, making her boobs bounce. George looked up, finally seeing how filthy she could really be. John, hand still pressed against himself, smiled at the naked woman and nodded. This caused Paul to look over to him, disappointment of his friend clear on his face, while Delilah giggled.   
"You've been mean to me this entire night!"  
She said to John, tip toeing over George, almost in a taunting tone. John sat up a bit as she got closer,  
"Oh you know I didn't mean it, baby."  
He groaned, hand tightening on his jeans. Paul crossed his arms as Delilah got closer to the couch, looking over to the side. She crossed her arms back, tilting her head in confusion.   
"Now, you've been flirting with me ever since we stepped foot in this room."  
She announced, and Paul looked at her with slight intimidation. John and George giggled, finding it humorous that the infamous lady killer Paul McCartney was at a loss of words in front of a woman.   
"He flirts with everyone."  
George said from the bed, sitting up from the wall, and adjusting his hair. Delilah smiled at Paul, and leaned down to him. His strength failed him, as he parted his lips longingly and looked up to her with hooded eyes. Once again, it seemingly being the side effect of living in Hamburg, reasonable thinking was gone from their minds. Delilah's hands made their way to Paul's shoulders, lightly pulling him closer to her. Paul gulped, feeling her breath against his lips.   
"Did you mean it when you called me pretty?"  
She mumbled, grazing her glossed lips on Paul's cheek. Paul broke, reaching up to her face and pulling her into a hungry kiss. It was bound to happen, and it only made the room boil with the hot atmosphere. John would be envious if it didn't turn him on so much to see Paul do this, and Delilah relaxed in his lap. George watched from afar, feeling a bit more comforted seeing Delilah give her attention to the rest of the room. It was strange, but after days of dealing with endless amounts of sexual tension and situations he had gotten used to it. And Delilah seemed to have an understanding of that, it was much like teenagers in Hamburg. They were reckless and careless, and filled with so much pent up libido it was unreal.   
"Good pretty bird-"  
Paul moaned out, before she cut him off with a tongue in his mouth. After a while, John had grown tired of watching this. Deciding Paul has had enough, he spoke up.   
"He's not the virgin, y'kno."  
Delilah lifted her head, eyeing the mouthy man. Confident even while nude, she eagerly made her way to John. Crawling to the other side of the couch, she eyed him just as he did her. Although she was annoyed with his abrupt behavior, she couldn't deny he was attractive. She nestled her nose in his hair, lips dangerously close to his ear, admittedly a very sensitive spot for John. He involuntarily jolted, body overcome with vast thrilling stimulation. Paul watched, making a mental note: "Next time go for John's ears."  
"I haven't even kissed it yet, darling."  
She commented, sending more uncomfortable waves of movement through John as he felt her lips get closer. John hated that she so easily titillated him, and how much so she did. But that didn't mean that he was able to keep in his low groans as she finally kissed inside of his ear.   
"Fuck- fuck!"  
He managed to get out, thrusting himself into his hand. Delilah knew it wouldn't particularly taste the best, but that wasn't the goal of this act. She wanted to get the best of him, and ultimately she did. Paul had her arse in his face, but he wasn't complaining.   
"You really know how to pick them George-"  
He said, taking a hand and teasing at her spread lips that had been taunting him ever since she drew her attention to John. He did it simply, just with one finger and a soft graze. But it was enough for her to let out a high moan in John's ear, making him look to see what Paul was doing. Paul could feel himself pulsating in his jeans when he felt the familiar wetness he had missed, hearing her juices faintly gush at his touch. The boys all heard, and exhaled a mutual moan, making George finally unbuckle his pants.   
"Don't tease her, Macca."  
John said, kissing her cheek. If he could have it his way he would have this bird for himself, but he had to show some restraint. Paul smirked at him, feeling her squirm.   
"Oh, I'm just having fun Johnny."  
And at that, George came to the conclusion he's had enough of watching.   
"Seems as though I'm the one who's supposed to be having fun right now."  
He stated, making Delilah's head snap to him. She hadn't forgotten, of course, just lost track of time. Paul retracted his hand, giving her ass a firm slap. She gasped, getting up from the couch with a surprised smile. More or less a look of disbelief, but not a hint of disapproval. Paul loved shocking women with assertiveness after buttering them up with a night of kind gestures.  
"Just couldn't help getting a taste of everyone. She sure loves her job."  
John said as she walked back to George. Delilah looked at George, whose pants, although unbuckled and unbuttoned, were still on. She cocked a brow, sitting at the end of the bed.   
"Do I have to undress you myself?"  
She asked, going for his shoes first. After they were off and set on the floor, she went for his jeans, crawling up his lap a bit to reach for his waistline. It was already unbuttoned, so she slid it down with ease. He scrunched up his legs, his knees going up. It was close to a reflex, as he reached for his jeans to cover himself. Delilah caught his wrist before he could, causing him to whine.   
"Tsk tsk tsk. Do you not want me to see? I want to see-"  
She leaned her head down, but before she could George lightly stopped her with the hand that she had caught. He was overwhelmed. A naked woman throwing herself at him wholeheartedly, genuine excitement in her eyes. She kissed the palm of his hand, and littered pecks over his fingers. George caught his breath, watching her leave innocent kisses. Paul and John knew exactly where this was going, and watched with eagerness.   
"Y'kno it kinda tickles after a minute, thank you for slowing it down a bi-"  
George went about a casual conversation, clenching his teeth after seeing Delilah wrap her lips around two of his fingers. While she did, she guided his other hand to one of her boobs. Her mouth was skilled, tongue swirling and sucking, leaving George to only imagine what could she do to his cock. It wasn't hot enough to moan, but he was close. Intensely watching her lips, fondling her breasts and feeling himself throb harder and harder.   
"Can I suck you?"  
She asked after popping off his fingers. George widened his eyes, legs shaking. He was paralyzed with the fear of the unknown. Everything was being thrown in his face at once, and it felt so good, but also such a sensory overload.   
"For God's sake, say yes!"  
Paul cried out, and George tilted his head over to his overly quiet friends. Both with cocks in hand, and somehow that made it better. So fucking dirty. Made him feel hotter, as Delilah kneeled her head down. He felt her free his cock from his boxers, and they bunched up down his thighs. George's cock sprung out, cold air making him shake. She stuck her tongue out, a pool of spit held and dripped down. George's mouth went agape, feeling the cold string of saliva hit his red tip. She took her hand and spread the wetness around, stroking lightly. George pathetically whined with every stroke, hunching over and involuntary thrusting into her hand.  
"Jesus, if that's how he reacts to her hand how will he react to her pussy?"  
John commented, with a harsh laugh. This was adding fuel to the fire for George, he looked over to John with large eyes, before they scrunched up and closed, as moans kept spilling from his lips. John felt a wave of arousal at the absolute pleasure in his facial expression. Delilah then teased the tip with her tongue, feeling him squirm under her. She loved knowing this was his first reaction to all of this, she loved getting it first hand. It was very satisfying. She quickly plunged his cock down her throat,   
"Oh!! Fuck- oh God oh God-"  
George started rambling, breaths becoming jittery and fast. He didn't want to break that bad, to seem this incapable of holding himself together. He kept holding his hand over his mouth to help keep it in, but he moaned through it anyway. Feeling her mouth move up and down made his legs scrunch up around her head.   
"They don't like that, don't do it."  
Paul giggled, taking humor from this situation. George forced his legs to spread, intense arousal making it difficult.  
"I fucking can't!-"  
George whined, as more sucks forced his legs to close once more. Delilah quickly lifted,   
"I can't breathe when you do that!"   
She yelled. George looked up at her, dumbfounded.   
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I can't help it! It's great-"  
He frantically explained. Deciding to help, Delilah spread his legs and held them down. Going back down on him, he still struggled with his reflexes.   
"Do we have to come and hold those legs down, Georgie? Paul will hold the left, I'll get the right."  
John threatened. It was embarrassing, like last night when John teased him into cumming. But it was completely different with the fact that this genuinely was so demeaning. He had absolutely no control of his own legs when Delilah kept sucking him. All he could do was concentrate on not making a complete fool of himself while he felt his cock grow. She stopped after a few moments, taking her hand and stroking further.   
"You seem nice and hard. Baby, are you ready?"  
She asked, the question weighed heavy on George's chest. Waiting for an answer, Delilah stayed patient. She saw the anxiousness in his eyes, wondering if he was even enjoying himself. He didn't know the answer to that inquiry, he just knew he didn't know what to say. While waiting, Delilah reached into her bag on the ground. Pulling out a condom, George watched her prep him. He would say thank you if his heart wasn't in his throat. John and Paul stopped watching, as they slowed down on their own pleasure. They had to show some kind of privacy to them, focusing on eachother. Paul laid his head back, looking over to John.   
"You've already cum twice tonight, you really think you can go for three?"  
Paul whispered to him. John's eyes went dark, annoyed at Paul's remark. Paul only smiled at him, brow cocked confidently.   
"You're the one who had my cum drip from your chin, the fuck to you think?"  
John said through gritted teeth. He smiled when Paul's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he stroked himself faster, all confidence leaving at the shameful comment.   
"You looked so good with my cum on your face, did you feel pretty?"  
Paul opened his eyes, looking up to John vulnerably. He shook his head yes to the question swiftly, not caring if John meant it rhetorically. John began to rub himself faster, atmosphere feeling heavy against his head. Faces so close to each other, they tasted their breath in one another's mouths. Even with the other two in the room, they wanted to feel their bodies come together. Just feeling the heat of John's was enough to get Paul close as he stroked. The feeling was mutual for John, as he affectionately nestled his nose against Paul's. If he couldn't kiss him he would at least do that.   
"Oh God"  
They heard George groan, snapping their heads to him. Delilah had sat in his lap, but was just slightly grazing her opening at his tip. While falling apart at her warmth, George panted and shut his eyes tight. His head was burning, and so was his cock. Delilah kept an eye on his reactions to make sure she wasn't hurting him and to make sure he was having a swell time. After he got more comfortable just feeling her, she started to slip more until his arms stopped her. She looked at his face, as he did to her. His eyes were bloodshot, it being about 2 am by now. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but he wanted to continue. Only his nerves were stopping him. Suddenly he had remembered what John had told him back at the brothel, something he never expected to hear from John  
"I give you a hard time cause you piss me off with bein' so hard on yourself all the time. Thinking no woman would ever dare fancy you. It's bullshit, Harrison!" He recalled the words fondly in his mind. Why shouldn't he be worthy? Why was he so scared to be himself sometimes? He needed to do this, he had to to prove it not only to John but to himself. His grip on Delilah let go, and he gave her a nod to continue. She did so, sitting down more and more and-  
"Pop!"  
John said when Delilah engulfed his cock within her walls. George didn't even hear him, considering he did mostly intend for only Paul to hear. His mouth was wide open, but no sound could escape. All George could do was desperately hold on to Delilah's thighs and await what she would do next. Delilah lightly moaned at the size of him inside her, looking into his eyes and seeing absolute need.   
"You feel good, darling. Either I can ride you or you can lift me yourself. Depends on how much control you want."  
She said, voice tinged with arousal. She did her best to keep him informed but after that sentence there wasn't much left to be said. Even if there was, she wouldn't be able to get it out. George wasn't going to lift her. He could if we wanted of course, but the only thing he could really feel on his body at the moment was his cock. Delilah understood after a few seconds of stillness, lifting herself up on him slowly. George's breath stopped as she did, mind not even able to comprehend breathing as she did so.   
"You really going to fuck her with a bloody condom on, mate?"  
John asked him from the other side of the room. Shockingly, him and Paul had already cum. Not from the two fucking in front of them but they used their distraction to their advantage and whispered in one another's ear and did what they could sneakily. Dirty talk did a lot for two young men with pent up sexual repression. Gave them an image of situations they could only dream of, and they certainly had done their fair share of dreaming of each other.   
"Shut up John!"  
George yelled, attention immediately going back to Delilah. John scoffed,  
"No! Shag her properly, just don't finish inside of her!"  
John commanded. George groaned, for the first time in a minute out of frustration. John knew the difference between condom sex and raw sex, and knew that once you start going in raw you never go back. It was true, from experience. Delilah grinned over to John, and lifted up off of George. George's head snapped back at Delilah, feeling her hand peel the condom off. She, after throwing it to the ground, went to get back to it. But George was now hesitant,  
"Delilah! I doubt this is smart please-"  
His face flushed hearing his friends chuckle at the couch. He didn't want to make any stupid decisions! He didn't want to end up being a father at 17! Though those odds were highly unlikely, the thought still scared him. Maybe somehow the condom gave him comfort. Comfort that even though he was having sex, he wasn't experiencing all of it in some way or another. Now he had the chance to taste all of it, that opened up a whole new box of problems and fears. A lot of "what if's'" he didn't have time to plan out. Call him somewhat of a control freak. But still, Delilah just continued, ignoring his pleads. He squirmed under her, that is until he felt her.. He shut up after that.   
"No no no! Delilah! Please stop-  
His voice broke a bit as she lowered herself down.  
"Ah...Delilah!"  
He still tried to hold up his guard, feeling her practically drip on his cock. That all failed when she once again sat down completely on his member. She was slick, and tight. He couldn't really notice it with the condom, but then again all he could feel with that thing on was tightness and warmth. And he wasn't even sure if it was tightness from the rubber or from her pussy. What was he thinking? Condoms are for suckers! He's never using one again!  
"Oh Fuck, you're tight!"  
He moaned, wrapping his arms around her. She moaned with him, bouncing on his lap after gaining a rhythm. Sweat built up on the both of them, as their breaths grew faster. John smirked when he saw his work was done, and Paul nudged him.   
"You don't have to keep getting in his business y'kno!"  
He said. John laughed low to keep the moment those two were having at least a little private. John had to admit the way he treated George was different than how he treated the rest of the band.   
"It's not that I want to get into his business, I just want him to get tougher. He's sensitive, I mean really-"  
John paused, starting to whisper to Paul more closely.   
"You need to have thick skin to live this kinda lifestyle."  
Paul nodded, actually agreeing with him. He was right, as John tended to be when it came to music and whatever came with it. George was still a child compared to them, sadly. Even though Paul was only a year older than him, they weren't talking about years. They're talking mentally. It wasn't that George was immature obviously, but he wasn't a very strong willed person. Oftentimes, you could say he was soft spoken and timid. He shocked the whole band just by being able to play on stage, let alone live a musician's life. They heard the two on the bed grow louder, but still they just looked at eachother. John felt himself grow fatigued, yawning. As he did, he casually laid his head on Paul's shoulder and closed his eyes. Paul felt his chest warm up, fondly smiling at the innocence John never showed. He chose a strange time, admittedly, while their friend lost his virginity. But Paul held onto these small moments of sweetness John gave him. Although they were rather warm, Paul lifted himself slightly to grab the blanket that was under him. He covered the both of them up, and closed his eyes along with John. It felt odd to try and doze off to the sound of a one night stand, but with all that had been done that night it was just adding to the pile of abnormalities. They couldn't doze off to tell the truth, but they figured pretending like they were could help George focus more. Under the blanket, Paul felt John lay a soft hand on his. It was child's play, seemingly, but like Paul had always told himself, 'It's baby steps with John.' Something about this was a bit bigger than a baby step, and Paul slowly took his hand in his. He then leaned down to him, laying his head on John's. This wasn't anything new, surprisingly. They'd done these kinds of things before. But before he made himself comfortable, Paul laid a quick kiss on John's temple. John grinned, and gripped his hand tighter. He had known Paul for three years, and it was enough to ensure he wanted to have him in his life forever. Sitting here, in the most unorthodox circumstance. John still felt at home. After a while, the night was coming to an end. This being assured by George's own cumming, as it was heard with a loud exclamation from him. He'd lasted a while, to John's dismay. It was certainly an experience, he had to admit. He felt free somehow. It seems cliche but he felt a big weight lift from his shoulders. And as he watched Delilah collapse beside him, he craved for anything to wet his dry mouth. He couldn't feel his body in order to move though, feeling a high he could only describe as addicting. John opened his eyes to see the aftermath of the encounter George had just finished, he let go of Paul's hand and lifted the blanket. Promptly, he started clapping. He was alone for a moment, and George looked embarrassed while he fought to catch his breath. Paul joined in with the clapping, and added his own cheers to the mixture. George laughed.   
"Come one guys-"  
He took more deep breaths.   
"Don't embarrass me in front of-"  
Delilah stopped him with a kiss after she had cleaned herself up from the mess he had made on her thigh. When she let go of him, she gave his cheek a playful smack.  
"Remember next time you do this, to help clean up afterwards."


	10. "Johnny be Good." "Hey there, Georgie boy."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Im aware the reference to the song is actually "Hey there Georgie Girl" and not boy. Sorry it's been a minute but I've had writers block for a while, but I finally got over it!

It had been close to two weeks since George had lost his virginity. Maybe three and a half. It was difficult to tell time when your days and nights had begun to blend together. The concerts had become more relentless and draining, but they still did the best they could. Instead of just playing an hour show in the evening, it had turned into a four hour nightmare. Even more if the crowd demanded it. In all actuality they shouldn't complain, that's what they had signed up for. But that didn't stop their throats from aching after every night from screaming their vocal chords off. Oftentimes George went back to their room bleeding from his fingertips, so in his free time his hands were bandaged up. He had started seeing Ringo in secret, sneaking during the day to see him either in his hotel room or they would go out. That's something that surprised George,  
"You get your own hotel room?"  
He asked, astonished he didn't have to share a room with his band mates.  
"Well, we've played here every fall and winter for about 3 years so-"  
Ringo would always break into laughter at all the things George was so naive to, and how he would always perk up his head and ask dozens of questions. George didn't hang out with Ringo with lewd intentions, to begin with. He likes having someone around with as much insight in the business as Ringo does. But after a while he liked how nice Ringo was, and how he was the most charming man he knew. They would go to cafes, walk around town. Having lived there much longer, Ringo showed him the best shops and restaurants. And as for seeing in private, George was almost certain John would have a fit if he knew he was in cahoots with someone from their "Rival Band." Which in George's honest opinion was ridiculous, but John was a very competitive man. So, a secret friendship they had to stay. Stuart started seeing Astrid more and more everyday, oftentimes the whole band would come over to her apartment above the hideout and order takeout by scrounging up dollars and coins from each other's pockets. It was nice to have a place other than one small hotel room to hang out in. Today, George woke up at about 9:30 on a Wednesday. Stuart, like always now-a-days was at Astrid's. He borderline lived there, and just after 2 weeks of knowing each other. While stretching and waking up, George thought to himself how he really couldn't blame Stuart for being so eager to leave the conditions he and the rest of the band was still living in. He sat up and looked down at the two mattresses that held his three band mates. They kinda stopped with bed arrangements, after Stuart was out of the picture. Pete took the free bed, and John and Paul always seemed to share one. Stumbling to the messy pile of bottles by the door, George picked up a semi full glass and cleared his dry throat. While looking at the bottom of the door, he saw a little piece of paper wedged between the wood and the floor. Curiously, George picked it up. Taking a few moments to unfold it, he rubbed his eyes to see it properly.   
"Meet me in the breakfast room, and try not to sleep until noon today   
-R.S."  
It read. George's lips involuntarily curled up in a grin, feeling his stomach do flips. He scrambled to get his pants and jacket on. Before leaving, he grabbed his hair gel that Ringo had actually gotten for him, and pocketed it. Before going to the breakfast area, he made a pit stop at the bathroom. The good thing about this bathroom, it was mainly for employees so there wasn't anyone there half the time. It took George maybe five to ten minutes to style his hair up perfectly, combing it through with the gel and arranging it with his hands. When he got it just the way he wanted it, he took a moment just to look in the mirror. Still pale, but his eyes seemed more sunken in. Either from lack of sleep or weight loss, the same goes for his cheek bones. He had lost a bit of weight since their move, everyone had. They were broke, what could they say? No money for real food, only eating the food Astrid got or breakfast. He didn't know why all of the sudden he cared about how he looked, but he hoped Ringo didn't think he was scrawny.   
"I knew I'd find you in here, they're all out of pancakes y'kno."  
He heard from the doorway, flinching and twisting around to see Ringo.   
"They serve the food at 7 o'clock, the pancakes are always the first to go."  
George smiled at the man, clapping his hands together.   
"Well, it's hard to wake up so early when you go to sleep right at 5 am."  
He said. Ringo rolled his eyes and gestured for him to follow. George eagerly did, but was stopped.   
"Don't forget your hair gel, sweets."  
Red in the face, George scooped up his gel and pocketed it once more. The pet names were something George was always conflicted about. On one hand, he wouldn't want anyone to know he calls them these cute names, but on the other hand he also doesn't want anyone to know how much he looks forward to hearing them. As they made their way to the breakfast area, George noticed Ringo kept moving to the exit.   
"Are we going somewhere?"  
He asked him. Ringo turned back to him,   
"Well pancakes are your favorite aren't they? I wanna get you some pancakes so you have a good start to the day. Breakfast is important."  
Ringo said, lowering his voice so only George could hear. It was sweet, and made George blush.   
///////////  
Stepping into a lovely little cafe, they were seated by a waitress quickly. They sat down and got comfortable, taking off their jackets and looking at the menus. Ringo did notice how every time he saw the boy he always wore the same clothes. Fluctuating between maybe 3 shirts and the same jeans. But he couldn't judge, whenever he first moved here he only had 4 shirts and 2 pairs of jeans. He couldn't help but have the urge to help George out, be the person he needed in his life at this strange stage. So he did little things, like buy him food or hair gel. George never asked, he just notices things. You could call it helping out, but really he did his best to subtly take care of him. George didn't know how to feel whenever Ringo showed his generosity to him, but he couldn't deny he really needed it.   
"I feel bad-"  
George mumbled. Ringo looked up from his menu.   
"Why, hungover again?"  
He asked. It was slightly true, but that wasn't it.   
"I don't have any money, Rings."  
Ringo scoffed, shrugging his shoulders and looking back down at the menu.   
"Don't you know by now I'll cover you. And do it happily."  
George looked to the side and smirked. He couldn't lie, he enjoyed having someone to pamper him a bit. Even the little things Ringo did made him feel appreciated. But still the lingering feeling of guilt pressed at his mind, but Ringo felt the tense atmosphere.  
"Pick out what kind of pancakes you want, love."  
He said to further reassure. Then a waitress made her way to them, pencil and pad in hand.   
"Should I start you off with some drinks?"  
She asked. George looked up, but waited for Ringo to answer first.   
"Coffee and a glass of orange juice, please."  
He answered, looking over to George.   
"Um, a cuppa with some apple juice please."  
He said. The waitress cocked her head,   
"What was that, dear?"  
She asked. George gulped,  
"Cuppa with apple juice, ma'am?"  
Ringo chuckled, correcting George for him.   
"Cup of tea, is what he means."  
The waitress giggled, shaking her head in understanding.   
"Have you gentlemen figured out what you want?"  
She then asked. Ringo smirked at Georges flushed cheeks, but continued to answer.   
"Toast would be good, with eggs and bacon."  
George waited while the lady wrote down his order.   
"Pancakes? With um.. Eggs."  
He didn't want to order too much, but Ringo added for him.   
"He'd like bacon to."  
She wrote everything down and nodded fondly to them before making her way to the kitchen with haste. George crossed his arms, eyeing Ringo.   
"You didn't have to add the bacon, you know that?"  
Ringo set both their menus to the side, and leaned in forward a bit.   
"When's the last time you ate actual food?"  
He asked. It was a question that had layers. He knew the answer, but that's why he asked it.   
"When's the last time I saw you?"  
George asked back, feeling defeated. Ringo cocked a brow, smirking when he'd proven his point.   
"Exactly."  
When they got their food, George couldn't help but eat like it was the last meal he'd ever have. Have you ever had that moment where you don't realize how starved you were until you take that first bite? That's the moment George just had. And Ringo looked at his bandaged hands.   
"You still got trouble with blisters?"  
He asked. George looked up and nodded, swallowing before actually answering.  
"They won't go away, and they hurt like hell."  
He explained, immediately going back to eating, making Ringo chuckle at how quickly he was consuming his breakfast. He definitely knew the feeling, but he's gotten to the point he's played the drums so much his palms are calloused over.   
"I've got this secret remedy for blisters if you wanna come back to my place for a spell after this."  
George was a bit hesitant to accept. Not because it was out of the ordinary for Ringo to ask something like that, and not because he didn't want to. It seemed that whatever excuse they could come up with to spend more evenings together, before shows that is, they took it. But he certainly had been spending loads of time with the man recently. His mates were noticing without a doubt, Paul especially. Every night when he came back from Ringo's room he made jokes like   
"I hope this bird you're seeing is as good of a looker as the last one because you were almost late."  
Yes Paul, he's seeing a bird. Totally, keep believing that. George wants you to think that, and he honestly wished it was true. The question still remained on the table, so Ringo clarified.  
"Is that okay? Your hands seem in sad shape, I think it could help some."  
He said, taking a casual bite of toast. George took a sip from his cup and shook his head.   
"Of course, Ringo. But do we have to go back right after this? It's still pretty early."  
George just couldn't pass it up. A day spent with Ringo was a day filled with nonstop laughs. Not that his friends weren't fun to be around, but he especially liked getting to know Ringo.   
"No, we can make a few stops if you want. Anywhere you'd like, just name it."  
He said. George tried not to show how good that made him feel, just to be treated so nicely. He loved John, and Paul. Of course he cared about Stuart and Pete. But, being the quietest and youngest. No one really took the time to consider his input, or suggestions. They didn't mean to, he knew that. With such a big group, quiet ones get lost in all the juvenile antics.   
"I don't know, maybe that strip mall a few blocks from here? With all the mod shops?"  
Ringo smirked at him, finishing up his toast and taking a drink of his orange juice.   
"Anywhere in the world, baby. I'd take you."  
He said. His voice was soft and sincere. George felt sick at the tone. He felt sick because it made his heart swell.   
"Why're you so nice to me?"  
George questioned. Ringo shrugged his shoulders, picking up his mug of coffee that had time to cool off. Seemingly thinking, he took a sip. George looked at how plush his lips looked against the firm glass, and felt himself grow slightly warm in the face and chest.   
"I told you. I like you."  
////////////////  
A few hours had gone by, and the sun kissed their skin while they made their way down the crowded street. Although the day was bright, it was still chilly, So George zipped his jacket up. The two were already three shops in and Ringo would buy all stores if he could. He hasn't bought anything in fact, but looking at how George innocently ran around and picked out everything he liked. He just wanted to give him the world. Call him whipped for a kid he'd only known for maybe 3 weeks, but that seemed to be the situation.   
"That last store had a lot of cool things didn't it?! Back at home all the clothes look the same, I like how everythings so colorful here!"  
George rambled on, further adding to Ringo's fascination.   
"And yet the only shirt I ever see you in is either a black one or a white one."  
Ringo said, giggles bubbling in his words as he spoke. It was true, he didn't have a big suitcase to bring all of his clothes from his home here. He just had an old leather backpack his dad had let him use for the trip. It only held jeans and two t-shirts, so he was in bad shape for the next few months. It was embarrassing, if he was honest. But he played it off with a laugh,  
"Well, I like color on the big paintings you see on the walls. On clothes that won't go on me. Don't really think it'd suit me."  
George commented, looking to the fourth mural they had passed while walking to their next store. Ringo stepped in front of him, walking backwards and holding his hands out. He looked at George through a box his finger made, just as George had done to him all those weeks ago.   
"Oh I don't know, kid. A few pastels would be mighty fine on you."  
Ringo commented, making the boy laugh. He watched as people walked around him, groups exchanging weird looks among themselves at the strange man walking backwards.   
"C'mon Richie-"  
George began, being stopped by one of Ringo's fingers to his lips.   
"Sh sh sh-"  
Ringo moved in a bit closer, which if George was completely honest made his blood pump ten times faster. It was noticeable in his cheeks, and Ringo made it worse by whispering.  
"It's Ringo, baby boy. Remember?"  
He ended the sentence with a quick wink.   
'My God he's perfect.'  
George thought, nervously biting his lip and swiping a twig of hair off of his forehead. He needed something to distract himself from Ringo's eyes, and his lips. His smile, and face. Well, something to distract him from Ringo. He felt his rough finger on his lips, and wanted to wrap his mouth around it. He remembered Delilah doing it to him, and he knew how good it felt and wanted to make Ringo feel that good. And of course, Ringo wasn't dumb. He knew his little comments like that made the boy stumble over his own thoughts, though He didn't know if George was stumbling in a good or bad way. Sometimes it was clear George was turned on by Ringo's words and names, but in moments like this he looked like he would vomit. Ringo deduced that's just the boy's nerves getting to him, hearing the sounds of nervous but flirtatious giggles erupt from George's lips. He moved Ringo's hand from his mouth.  
"I remember, I'm the one that made the name."  
George managed to spit out after the fit of soft laughter. Ringo, still grinning at the boy, looked to the right of them at the strip mall they were passing.   
"How about this last store, then we'll go on back. And I'll help with your blisters."  
He said, and they made their way to the door. George saw through the glass before officially walking in, seeing rows and rows of record tables. He gasped to see it was a music store, quickly picking his pace up and storming inside. Ringo did mention how he had a surprise for him, and he loved it.   
"You didn't tell me they had a record shop!"  
George said, smile being heard in his voice. He waited for Ringo to catch up, looking back at him with an excited look. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets, to keep them from being in the air pointing at all the band posters that hung from the wall. Everyone he ever listened to is what surrounded them, and his enthusiasm showed still by his knees bouncing him up and down.   
"It's not just a record shop, y'kno. Look-"  
Ringo pointed to the opposite wall George was looking at, showing him the different guitars that hung, and different instruments such as electric and acoustic. A few basses as well. Not only that, but even a drum set. Passed the rows of records there were wire clothes hangers filled with t-shirts and jackets. George took time to marvel at all the different styles of shirts, and noticed how each one was unique. The establishment was like no other in the small amount of world George had ever seen. His mind was at ease actually, because of how comfortable he felt amongst the people there. Like they all were the same, flowing through life fueled by music. Drugs. And alcohol. And George was getting used to seeing people who look just like him, who have the same grit to them. He couldn't fit in back at home even if he tried now. While lost in his thoughts, looking through the shirts, he looked at Ringo. He remained near George, but was occupied with looking up at the wall of guitars.  
"I thought you'd be excited by these, not the shirts."  
He joked, pointing up. George took the few steps to him, looking up as well to the instruments that were lit up by multi color lights.   
"I am, I promise-"  
He said, eyeing one in particular. Ringo kept his eyes on him, knowing he couldn't see his hungry gaze. His head couldn't get enough of looking at him, and he didn't mind it at all.   
"You wanna try out whichever one you're looking at?"  
He said, looking away before George (or anyone else for that matter) could see how he was looking at him.  
"I dunno, I don't wanna break it. They look expensive."  
Ringo rolled his eyes and looked at him again, scoff leaving his lips.   
"C'mon, I wanna hear!"  
George scoffed back, elbowing him lightly.   
"Do you see how many people are in here? I can't concentrate."  
He added, it being the truth. He's played to almost hundreds every night but he's still technically shy in his free time. Ringo crossed his arms, looking around a moment to see the perfect drum set. It was to the side of the wall, seeming just to be for display. But it wasn't serious, he's seen everyone and their mother play every instrument there. Walking to the set, George hoped he was bluffing. But after seeing him sit down on the stool provided, he hurried to Ringo's side once more.   
"Ringo- Ringo no!"  
He whispered frantically, before being totally blown out by Ringo's playing. A cheeky grin was spread over Ringo's face, and George couldn't help but bust out into laughter. And it wasn't because he was embarrassed, surprisingly, it was because Ringo was just banging random parts.   
"If you're going to play, play something!"  
George shouted above the noise, earning a giggle from the small crowd that was inevitably around them. Ringo stopped, setting his hands on each of his hips.   
"C'mon Georgie, play one time for me."  
He pleaded. And just like that, a nick-name George once hated had made his knees go weak. After his face went red, he shook his head. Anything so he could hear Ringo say his name like that again. He ignored the quizzical looks he got while he reached for a random guitar off the wall. After plugging it into an amp, he secured it around his neck. Making his way back to Ringo, he shifted all of his weight into one hip to hold the guitar properly. Ringo admired the kids swagger a moment before standing back up and cocking his head to get a good look at George. Strumming a bit to see if it was in tune, George adjusted it slightly. His mind went from the strings to a tune, thinking a moment for what song to play. It didn't take long before the store was filled with his skilful playing, as he chose a rather hard song. It was fast tempo, so Ringo watched his fingers quickly glide across the neck and strings. As he continued to play, Ringo's eyes went to George's face. His eyes were in fact closed though, concentrating hard so he wouldn't make a slip. It was like he was showing off, but it took everything in him to remain cool. It worked, because Ringo couldn't look away. A few people around them found themselves enjoying the music, tapping their feet and bobbing their heads. When George opened his eyes to see, the music abruptly stopped. The small audience he had, even if they were going about their business, made small claps of approval. He immediately looked at Ringo, shoulders tensing up and visibly flushing.   
"Good bo-"  
Ringo stopped himself.   
"Job."  
He quickly corrected, coughing to mask his mistake.   
"Good job. What was that piece called? I feel like I've heard it before."  
He asked. George removed the guitar from around his neck before answering.   
"Just the guitar part of 'Three cool cats.' You've seen me play it a few times in concert."  
He explained while walking back to the wall and returning it to it's stand. And it all made sense as to why Ringo loved the sound.  
"Oh I love when you sing that one, you sound bloody brilliant."  
He said, letting his tone drop a bit. It was intoxicating how sultry and smooth Ringo's voice could be, and it made George's insides twist up in knots as he heard it. Especially giving him nice compliments and praises. He shifted his weight on his tippy toes to his heels a few times to try and get the blood somewhere else.   
"Look who's being so sweet, just for me?"  
He grinned, leaning closer to Ringo as his weight went to his toes. If only they were alone, the things Ringo would do.   
"Yeah, all for you. Georgie boy"  
Was all he could say, for now. Needless to say, they both decided to leave pretty soon after that. They couldn't concentrate on anything other than each other. Even trying to look at records, Ringo would press his hip against George's and they both would feel the heat build up between them. Getting into Ringo's car after the semi long walk through the strip, they both looked forward into the glass. It wasn't hard to feel the energy between them. And every time they sat in his car, so close, the air around seemed to grow warm.   
"Can I take a look at your hands, so I can see how bad the blisters are?"  
Ringo asked, reaching his hand out for George's. It was unconventional, but George stuck his hand out. Ringo observed a moment, taking in his bandaged hand.   
"Would you mind if I look them off?"  
He asked, making sure George was comfortable. He nodded his head, as to which Ringo promptly started unwrapping his fingers. It stung feeling the sticky bandage pull on his wounds, and he winced. Ringo went about the rest of the bandages more gently, uncovering multiple red swollen bumps up and down his fingers.   
"God damn, kid, how much does your band practice?"  
George laughed along with Ringo, flexing his hand to get used to being able to move them.   
"Well, If I'm not with you I have a guitar in my hand no doubt. Either that or shit faced drunk."  
He explained, feeling both of Ringo's hands effortlessly rub his palm. He did it by circling his thumbs on the front of George's hand, and massaging the other side with his ringed fingers. It made George relax, and notice how intimate they had become.   
"That feels good-"  
George mumbled, feeling Ringo's grip tighten. Leaned in close, their gazes meeting, George's mouth hung open and eyes glazed and heavy. Ringo smirked at how George sighed in relief after what he had said, taking his chance to lean in even closer to his ear. George felt a pooling warmth grow between his thighs, shutting his mouth with a quick pop of his teeth. Ringo nuzzled his nose in George's hair, finally taking the time to admire the guitarist as closely as he wanted to. He loved the soft heat of his skin, hardly seeing even the implications of peach fuzz. Only creamy smooth silk, pulling him in closer. George wasn't disturbed by the act, in fact he giggled.   
"That tickles-"  
His breath hitched as he felt Ringo's lips graze his ear. That was a big step, and Ringo knew it was risky. But he wasn't going to kiss just yet, he just wanted his feelings to be known. George trembled under his hot mouth, wishing his mind wasn't screaming for more of his soft lips on his feverish body. Ringo felt George's hand tense up, but he just held it.   
"Your hair smells like gel."  
Ringo said, voice calm in George's ear. With each word George felt shivers shoot down his spine, knees shaking when he felt the shivers make it to his boxers.   
"Richie, what are you doing?"  
He shuddered, resting his neck against the headrest. All the while Ringo giggled and nuzzled his face further, making George go into a fit of laughter too.  
"Just having some fun with you, sweet boy."  
////////////////////  
"Don't you think George has been gone a lot lately?"  
John spoke up into the silent atmosphere, adjusting his glasses to see his book better. He'd finally found his glasses in the microscopic room, and still hardly ever wore them. Only when it was just him and Paul, like now. Even still he felt ridiculous with the thick black frames squared around his eyes, but his head did mercilessly hurt on occasion from squinting so often. Paul was laid on his stomach across a bed, sitting up and writing in his notebook. John tilted his head up to Paul, who was lost in his hand written personal hypnosis.   
"Oi Macca, did you hear me?"  
He spoke up modestly, eyes going back to the words on his page. Paul casually started to sway his feet in the air to try and stimulate his creative thinking.   
"It's good to have friends, Lenny."  
Was all Paul said, the neglected nick-name for John spilling from his lips. The two sat in silence for a few moments, only noise to be heard was the turn of a page from the thick book John was reading.   
"He's got friends, we're his friends."  
He said, his mind wandering from the book to conversation. He folded a page and closed it, resting it in his lap as Paul answered.   
"Indeed we are, but that doesn't mean he can't have more. Don't be so protective, Johnny."  
Muttered Paul, as he scribbled through a sentence he'd just written. Paul was in fact suffering from a terrible case of writer's block, and it surely showed. Shutting his book, he shifted in bed to face John. He was still searching for a response, but just scoffed in the end. Paul rolled his eyes at his friend, understanding that John was just worried because everyone in Hamburg was wired on drugs, or searching to get that high. It was true, since the time they'd spent there the only semi-sober people they'd met was Astrid, and a few of her college friends. The band and them weren't saints themselves, but they cared about George at least.  
"He's fine. No matter how much we see him as one, he's not a baby y'kno."  
Paul spoke through the silence. John crossed his arms, foot impatiently tapping on the ground. It was kinda cute seeing John so upset and worrying himself sick over his metaphorical kid brother. There were more things than that to be worried about, honestly. And if Paul knew John the way he did, he could point them out just from his facial expressions.   
"George still cares about the band, John. He practices so much his hands bleed. Even I don't practice that much-"  
"I'm not worried about that- that's stupid!"  
John interrupted coldly. Paul then sat up from his laid about position, holding himself on one hand.   
"Don't talk to me like I'm clueless about how you think. I've known you a while, Lennon. And know that you worry yourself silly over things that aren't even real."  
Paul explained. John hated his accuracy, so he stayed silent. As Paul guessed he would, so he got up and put his notebook and pencil in his travel bag. While on his way back to his bed, he stopped by John.   
"I know what you need, Lenny, get up."   
Paul grabbed his hand, and pulled. John didn't budge, and just looked up at him, a small smirk on his face.  
"And what's that?"  
He asked while Paul finally got him up. His hands quickly went to John's shoulders, feeling his tense muscles. He nodded as if he was checking off a box on a list, and John cocked his head to the side to look at Paul more confused.   
"I swear you don't know the meaning of the word relaxation- lay down on your stomach."  
Paul told him, just adding to John's concern. But he did as he was told, and laid on the closest mattress. He heard Paul fumble around the room a few moments before settling down next to him.  
"Alright, don't get upset now. I know you're a bit touchy when you're in this mood of yours-"  
John groaned, looking over to Paul.   
"In a mood? I'm not a bloody bird on her cycle Paul-"  
John roared, being stopped by Paul's hand covering his mouth. Considering it wasn't that serious, John only shoved his hand away and laid back down.   
"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Your nerves are shot, Johnny boy."  
Paul rested his hands on John's shoulders, on an awkward angle due to him sitting at John's side. John felt his efforts, all going to waste because of the angle.   
"Well that's no good."  
He mumbled. Paul sneered, crossing his arms.   
"Well, I can't get a nice grip. Not with the way I'm sitting-"  
"For Christ's sake, just get on top of me."  
John commanded, needing some sort of emotional relief. He was looking forward to a good massage, but he wasn't going to be nice about it. Paul closed his mouth, feeling it go dry. His crossed arms loosened to his sides, mind growing frantic.   
"You..you want me to-"  
John huffed and put a pillow over his head.   
"Get on with it McCartney!"  
He knew it was strange, but he was already in the position. His body was tensed up, and wanted peace of mind. He felt Paul's weight on his lower body, as he straddled his hips. He was warm, and that alone began to ease John's thoughts. They were both in their boxers with pajama shirts, so they felt their legs tangle together. They were quiet while Paul began, leaning into his light thrusts. First he used his palms with John's tightened shoulders, but after feeling knots he moved to his knuckles. After a few moments, John removed the pillow from his head.   
"Try and take deep breaths. I read that breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth slows your heart beat."  
John rolled his eyes, not taking Paul's advice.   
"My hearts just fine-"  
"John I can feel it through your shirt!"  
John's eyes shot back at him, brows narrow and frustrated.   
"That's fucking impossible! I'm laying on my stomach!"  
That was the last straw for Paul. He was right when he said physical conflict really was the only way to get through to John sometimes. His hand went to John's auburn hair, and held a handful tight before yanking his head back. John yelped, adrenaline rushing through his body before letting a few more groans out.   
"Johnny, be good."  
Paul told him, grip still remaining firm. It was exactly what John needed, feeling his anxiety go away. He squirmed under Paul, but that only made him grab more of his hair and yank harder.   
"Johnny. Be good."  
He commanded again, letting up on his head a bit to give him the benefit of the doubt.   
"I'll be good, Sir! I'll be good!"  
John finally exclaimed, and Paul promptly let him go. They were hot and sticky as they felt their middles meet, but Paul still went about his massage. Believe it or not, John was melted and loose. Paul's hands went under his shirt to feel his heated skin.   
"Our big strong leader. You encourage everyone here, inspire everyone."  
Paul started, working out the still present knots in his back before adding a small comment  
"Especially me.."  
He started rubbing circles, whispering the words. John was limp beneath him, using his breathing technique and letting a few sighs here and there due to Paul's hands.   
"You need to be encouraged don't you John, it wears you down bein' the strong one all the time."  
John let an especially strong groan out after that sentence, after feeling Paul move up closer to his ass.   
"Ahh.. Paulie-"  
He said, voice muffled by a mattress.   
"That's good baby, let it all out."  
/////////  
"Are you sure this is going to work?"  
George spoke up while Ringo rummaged through his hotel drawers. They just made their way to the room, while walking up the stairs Ringo explained his plan.   
"Salt water dries out the blisters. So take ocean salt and pour it in a sink filled with warm water. Then soak your hands for maybe 30 minutes and they'll stop hurting."  
He said, unlocking the hotel room. That was about 20 minutes ago, and Ringo was still looking for the salt. George was amused with his searching, smiling as Ringo went from drawer to drawer. It was cute, feeling his worry due to the missing condiment.   
"It's fine if you don't have it, Ringo. I'm okay-"  
Ringo suddenly jolted his arm up in the air, holding the salt. He was shaking it happily, the sound rustling through their ears. He gave George a wink before gesturing to his bathroom, and they both stepped inside the small area. It only held a sink, and beside there was a toilet. Across the small room was a shower door, and George leaned against it as Ringo turned the sink faucet on. It was cramped, but comfortable.   
"Is it going to sting? Cause I don't think my little heart can take it."  
Ringo clogged up the drain and turned to George.  
"Well by looking at how bad those blisters are I'd say it might be pretty bad, love."  
This made George a bit nervous, but he couldn't let Ringo know he was a complete wuss when it came to pain. Ringo, after making sure the water was warm, poured in a good amount of salt making it cloudy. Watching the salt flourish through the water, George walked closer to the sink. It was only two steps before he was in front of it though, and he felt the warmth of the water in the air. Ringo kept his eyes on him, resting against the wall next to the sink. He reached for George's hand, guiding it to the water before George instinctively snatched away. It was a mistake, because now Ringo knew he was anxious. George thought he would get mad, or just annoyed at his disobedience like John or Pete would have. But Ringo just reached for his hand again, silently thumbing over the sores. He had to inch his jacket sleeves up, the arms being a bit long on the boy. Ringo then, after finding it difficult to move the leather sleeves, quickly went behind George and took off his jacket for him. He laid it on the back of the toilet and stayed behind George, guiding his hands now by holding his wrists gently. Even though the man was shorter he held an intense presence, and George complied easily. Upon feeling his hands submerged in the water, each sore felt as if a bolt of lighting was shooting straight on them. George winced and shut his eyes tight, tensing up in Ringo's hands that were still holding him.   
"Shh shh I know-"  
Ringo comforted, watching George slowly open his eyes and look at him through the mirror they were standing in front of. It was crazy, but George couldn't feel the pain after seeing Ringo's soft blue eyes. All he could feel was his body pressed against him as he stood behind him still, the warmth from him and the water making his face grow hot and pink. Ringo knew he was crowding him, and making him flush. But George didn't ask for him to step away, so Ringo stayed. The only thing they heard was the leaking faucet dripping into the mass of saltwater. They kept looking at each other though as the air grew more humid. George felt his body temperature rise with every drop he heard echo through the room.  
Drip  
And Ringo's urge to bend him over the sink and do absolutely sinful things to this young boy increased with each simple drop as well.   
Drop  
George felt Ringo lean closer in, his middle meeting his back side. And he watched as his blue eyes rolled, feeling the hard and throbbing member pressed against his ass. You'd think he would have hurriedly taken his hands from the water and pushed him away. George knew that would be logical. That's what John would do. That's what Paul would do. John would punch him in the face and never speak to him again. But sometimes George couldn't do the things his friends had taught him to do, he couldn't hurt Ringo like that.   
Drip  
George only gasped, looking down to try and concentrate on something else. The water? The stinging pain? No, his body wouldn't let him ignore the next thrust that landed on him again. He jolted up, feeling Ringo man handle his hips and keep him in place.   
"Richie-?"  
Ringo smirked at him in the mirror, eyes somehow changed color. They were darker, and filled with racing thoughts.   
"I'm sorry, can't help it-"  
He leaned into the nape of his neck again, like he did in the car. George felt something different, though. In the car it was more innocent, Ringo was being sweet like he always was. And so quickly his personality seemed to change, even his face was more sinister. Sexual aggression was felt through his finger tips that held his hips, and George… didn't feel afraid. In this situation normally it's done against the person's will, being taken advantage of. A stranger comes into your life and starts practically spoiling you, and gains your trust. Get you in a vulnerable situation and makes their move. That's the story, told millions of times. But as George went over it in his mind, an aspect was different in his story. He..liked it.  
Drop  
George then lifted his hand from the water and tightened the faucet handle to stop that God forsaken dripping. His heart would soon stop as well, and he would wail out in the sudden pain that Ringo inflicted upon him. His multi ringed hand firmly slapped George's ass, sending a plethora of conflicting thoughts through the boy's head.   
"Don't move your hand away from the water, isn't that what I said to do?"   
George heard through his conscience telling him to stop the situation that instant.   
"I don't like this!"  
George frantically spoke, hands doing as the man said. Ringo gently rubbed the sore cheek, suddenly switching personalities again! Eyes back to sweet and playful. What is this man doing to George!   
"I just want you to listen, darling."  
George then stiffened up from Ringo's grip, not going to succumb to any more of his games.   
"I don't know what you think we're doing here, but-"  
He failed to sound intimidating, and lost his train of thought. But after a slight pause he continued,  
"But- we're probably not on the same page?"  
He managed to explain, while Ringo took a step back. His eyes remained playful, but his swagger read cockyness. He tilted his head and chuckled,  
"That so? You don't sound so sure."  
George was growing frustrated, scoffing at his words.   
"I think I'm pretty sure I don't want you slapping my bloody ass, thank you. Or your cock on it, for that matter."   
He aggressively said, trying hard to look as intimidating as a man could look with their ass to someone. Ringo only smiled  
"Alright."  
He said, tipping his head to George in his genuinely friendly manner. But George at this point couldn't tell if it was a trick. Was Ringo trying to take advantage of him?   
"That's.. Never happened."  
George finally explained, telling himself that Ringo would never do that to him. Not the man with the sweetest eyes he's ever seen. Ringo would never.   
"Figured. Sorry if it was a lot."  
He apologized.   
"I'm not queer."  
George continued. Ringo knew he was going to say something like that. But from his experience, if a man lets you grind against his ass without immediately giving you a bloody nose then they're not as straight as they say or think they are.  
"Anything you say."  
He said back, smirk still apparent. George felt like he was being humored, almost being laughed at. He rolled his eyes and sighed,  
"How much longer? I've got practice in about n' hour."  
He snapped, hoping the answer was maybe 10 or 15 minutes so this situation could end. Ringo raised his eyebrows, head still high like he had a dirty secret to tell. Or to keep.   
"What? A little friendliness and you're out the door?"  
George's mouth went agape at his sentence, looking him in the eyes through the mirror.   
"A little friendliness?! I've got a red cheek because of you!"  
George then lifted his hand to grab a towel on the rack next to the mirror and dried his hands. Moving quickly to try and get out of the hotel room, George grabbed his jacket after throwing down the towel. He didn't even step foot out of the bathroom before Ringo grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. George was taken aback, looking at Ringo's sincere face and mentally melting. He looked sorry, and dreadfully sad. Who knew puppy dog eyes could be so sexy? Indescribably so, bringing back George's soft spot he had for the man. Call it a soft spot or denied desire, the true name for the tingling feeling in George's stomach was unknown.   
"Let me patch up your hands before you go, please."  
Ringo said, thinking over the actions that had just taken place. Maybe he had overstepped his boundaries? If he was honest the things he had done he didn't give much thought to due to how comfortable they had gotten with one another. It was a minor slip, a small fraction of what he really wanted to do to him. He would have to put a pen in it momentarily, Ringo told himself. He watched George scan him over, his face was softer and more relaxed. Not only that, but Ringo could slightly detect lust radiating from George's eyes. Especially when they stopped on his lips.   
"O-okay."  
George stuttered, making the both of them look to the ground. Ringo guided him to the bed and George sat down on the edge. Ringo opened the drawer on the bed table while he felt George's eyes on him. It was anxiety inducing, but they both stayed quiet. Ringo shot one or two glances over to George while fumbling for the bandages, and he noticed that the boy's eyes were still glued to him. Ringo couldn't tell if he was still upset with him, but he knew he wasn't upset as he could be due to the fact he was still here. His nerves got the best of him causing him to slam the drawer shut. George jumped, arms tensing up to his sides. Ringo smirked, looking to the ground and basking in the boy's nervous posture. He felt the pen he had moments ago placed in his heart wiggle out of his intentions, and after only being there for a matter of seconds. It was only natural for him to kneel in front of George, only to confuse the guitarist more. George went to say something, to tell him to stand up or stop looking at him like that. But Ringo opened a packet with alcohol pads inside, and placed a few on his fingers.   
"Ow!! Shit- that hurts Ringo!!"  
George yelped, but Ringo held his hands and kept him from snatching them away.   
"The hell?? They've never burned like that with normal bandages!!"  
Ringo ignored his tantrum and continued to disinfect his wounds, opening his night stand again to get a few more things. While he put vaseline along George's fingers, he looked up and said,  
"Half of the problem was that you weren't taking proper care of them."  
He put the jar and alcohol pads away, but left the final step. He wrapped his hands in cotton gauze, a rather thin layer so he could still move them and play his instrument. The vaseline helped what little gauze that protected his blisters stick on his hand. Ringo then unraveled some elastic bandages, and proceeded to wrap up all the work he'd done.   
"Well that was a lot of work."  
George scoffed, being overly rude to try and keep the sweet talking to a minimum. Ringo took notice of this, but he's seen it hundreds of times.   
"A simple thank you would have been fine to-"  
He shut his nightstand for the last time, not moving from his spot in front of George. They looked at eachother, after the whole situation in the bathroom George was afraid to look into his eyes for too long. Ringo decided to speak again after he saw George's nervous face.   
"I've done this a while, mate. Do you even know what I'm talking about?"  
George's mouth stayed shut, but his eyes were wide and afraid. He shook his head no, even though he did know the answer to Ringo's question. He wanted to hear the drummer say it.  
"I've been with girls. Guys. Sometimes both at one time. An' I've flirted with men just for the fun of it-"  
"Why are you telling me this?!"  
Ringo gulped a big knot down due to the guitarist, and how firm he was being. He knew he was going to be upset and mouthy, but after knowing him for going on a month. This was their first intense conversation, their first moment where they've gotten real with each other. Ringo knew George wasn't stupid, and has noticed how friendly and flirtatious they are together. Christ, the first night they met their eyes never looked away from one anothers.   
"Don't be daft."  
Ringo muttered, voice going down that subtle octave or two that never failed to make George tingle between his legs. That being said, his legs did flinch up to try and hide from the drummer. Of course Ringo noticed, and a devilish smirk curled onto his lips.   
"I love how easily flustered you get-"  
George yelped helplessly when Ringo's hands went to his knees and brought his feet back to the ground. He was right, His pale face was likely every shade of red and pink under the sun. Keeping his hands on George's knees, he kept talking.   
"I love seeing you as much as I do. I love giving you thing's, I love seeing how excited you get when I take you places. I love taking care of you-"  
Ringo rambled, shutting his mouth at the last sentence. His voice was soft as he said this, but the volume of what he was saying wasn't lost because of this. He looked up to see the boy's eyes soften, taking in everything he'd said. He wasn't trying to take advantage of him.. He genuinely cared about him.   
"Why?"  
George asked, and the question hung in the air for a moment. It was hard for Ringo to explain but he searched for the right words to say. George saw his mind was racing but remained patient.   
"You have a very kind soul, and your eyes make me calm. The moment I met you I knew I was never going to be without you."  
George took his kind words to heart as he felt his swell with happiness.   
"Not to mention- have you looked in the mirror mate?"  
George felt himself grow warm at Ringo's words, or more the way he said them. But he didn't have time to comment on that before Ringo continued his thoughtful rambling.   
"My God, you're beautiful. Have you any idea what you do to me?"  
Ringo asked him, hands tightening on his knees. George was hot, legs going limp under the man's touch. It was the thought of Ringo finding sexual pleasure just from him. He hasn't done anything to make Ringo feel this way, but the image of the man getting tight in the pants to just his body was a lot to put on George.   
"Tell me."  
George said. Ringo chuckled, low and sinister. He relaxed a bit, because George had lost his anger.   
"Everything about you is intoxicating. I feel high whenever I look at you. My brain goes into a fog but my body feels like a lit cigarette-"  
His hands parted the boy's legs, and after that George gave no fight. Ringo's eyes scanned his thighs and waist, seeing if he was right to think George was swollen. Obviously he was right, and George closed his eyes in embarrassment, not wanting to see Ringo's reaction to how easily he was turned on.   
"And you gave me trouble back there in the bathroom, you loved feeling my cock didn't you?"  
George gulped, but nodded his head. He was still too embarrassed to open his eyes.   
"How adorable are you? I haven't even touched you. Open your eye's love, look at me."  
Ringo went on, hands now rubbing up and down his thighs. George looked down at him, seeing his darkened eyes and growing more in his pants.   
"May I?"  
Ringo asked, hands going to George's belt. George put a hand over his mouth and looked to the side, feeling pathetic because of how he wasn't able to control himself.   
"I need a yes or no baby boy, tell me."  
George moved his hand and his uneven breaths were heard, but out of them he gasped.   
"For God's sake, please!"  
He remarked. Ringo cocked a brow, unbuckling quickly. After his jeans were unbuttoned as well, Ringo got on his feet and pulled them down to George's knees swiftly as he did. All the while the fast motion left George's back on the bed, and Ringo's hands at his hips. It was smooth, it was sneaky. And it made George's head spin, knowing that gesture was meant to shut his back talk up. Ringo knew how to show dominance, that was for sure.  
"No underwear?"  
Ringo giggled. George looked up, understanding to talk only when spoken to.   
"I only have two pairs, they're dirty."  
He explained. Ringo admired his cock, lightly grazing his hands over it. The cold from his rings made George shiver.  
"Hey there, Georgie boy."  
Ringo teased.


	11. Rock and Rolls going to kill you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry once again for such a long wait, a lot of things have happened since I last posted in my personal life. Nothing too terrible but I sadly was distracted. In this chapter, I don’t really know if it’s as good as what I normally write. But I hope to get to writing the next one as soon as I post this one! Even though I’m not to confident in it, I hope you all enjoy it all the same! Happy reading ❤️

Needess to say George was a bit late to band practice that day. And every morning after that, George awoke from a night filled with wet dreams. Not just lewd, but they always recalled the events with Ringo that evening. This was the case this morning in fact, as the boy grew hot under his covers. In his dreams, he saw black and white, like watching it through a film camera. Looking down to his legs, Ringo's crystal blue eyes were gazing up at him. The only color in his dreams were the man's eyes, and he watched Ringo wrap his lips around his cock. In the bed, he scrunched his legs together, bunching the blanket between his thighs as the images of Ringo got worse. He could feel his mouth, warm and wet glide over him. The imaginary sensation sent his hips into a desperate fight for friction as he shifted in bed and thrusted against the mattress. He remembered Ringo lifting his legs to rest on his shoulders, and the way he lost control of his limbs.  
"Ringo-"  
He moaned into his pillow, thrusting more. In the silent room, little sounds went far. And John, being in the next bed over, heard the noise George was making and took the pillow from beneath his own head, and in a swift motion he hit him  
"Shut up!"  
John mumbled, making George flinch awake, sitting up abruptly. George felt his heart in his throat, thinking John had seen what he knew was happening. But when he saw John roll back over to face Paul, his eyes were still shut and he was half asleep. Calm rushed over his chest, sudden blood rush making him dizzy. George rested back on the pillow, feeling his tight boxers still throbbing. His thoughts started to repeat Ringo's words, tortured with images and the sensations he craved.   
"God damnit-"  
He whispered. While his problem got worse, he tried to distract himself. But as he put his arm between his legs, he couldn't help but be treated with mental depictions of various scenes with Ringo. He couldn't help it, he had just experienced the best sexual encounter of his entire life not four days ago. And he hadn't seen the man since, leading to his body begging for more. Especially in the morning.   
"You can come back any time. I'll give you some space though, so I don't hover-"  
The sentence Ringo said to George before he hurriedly ran to band practice played in his mind.   
"Any time."  
George muttered, helplessly clenching his thighs around his own arm. No, George wasn't going to him. He wouldn't. He couldn't, George didn't want to be desperate. He tried, through horny thoughts and climbing body temperature, counting a list of the reasons not to. He checked off the fact of how early it was. He checked the fact he didn't want to bother him. Also, it would mean he needed him. George gasped at that realization, eyes rolling to the back of his head  
"Fuck, I do need it-"  
He jumped up, making his way to the door. He made sure not to wake Stuart on the couch, or John and Paul on the bed when he slowly opened the door before racing down the hall. The sun wasn't even up, so he deduced no one important would be awake at this hour. But he made sure his boxers were covered by his blanket, wrapping up and rapidly made his way through the hotel halls. Ringo's room was the next flight up from his, and he felt his stomach churn pressing the elevator button. The awkward silence in the moments waiting for the elevator made his nerves worsen. He didn't consider if this was a bad idea, but he needed touch.   
~Bing~  
The elevator chimed. He watched it open, and his mouth dropped at the sight of the pretty blonde. The same bird that not just the beginning of the month he jerked off to. He scrunched his arms together to conceal his swollen middle with his blanket. The bird's eyes went wide at his appearance, arms full with fresh towels. She giggled, eyeing him up and down, seeing his bare feet. She stepped out, and George quickly stepped in. He didn't look at her, embarrassed and red faced. When he pressed the floor Ringo was on, he let out a sigh when the door closed. The bird walked down the hall, a smirk apparent on her face. She looked through the long walkway, and placed towels on doorsteps. When she made it to the band's door, she gasped at the sight of John.   
"Goodness, you boys are sneaky!"  
She joked, handing John a towel, even though they didn't have their own bathroom. John, in his boxers and sheepishly leaning against the door frame gently took the towel in hand.   
"Did he tell you where he was going?"  
She inquired, tilting her head. His eyes remained on the elevator, mind engulfed with questions that had no answers. The entire time he and Paul thought George was going out with a girl, but he was in this hotel this whole time. His worry came back, even worse than before. He didn't even have a reason yet, but his stomach just felt as if something was going on.   
"No he didn't."  
He answered simply, eyes finally darting back to the woman. She saw the concern in his eyes and decided to try and comfort him."It's alright, he's just going to see that drummer with Rory Storm and the Hurricanes more than likely. I always see him leave his room before you guys play. Haven't in a few days though, so maybe he had a burst of creativity this morning and wanted to share it with him?"   
She explained, trying her best to console. John's eyes darted back to the elevator, his worry leaving his system. And it was replaced with pure adrenaline and anger, but he wasn't going to snap at the polite hotel lady who thought she was helping him.   
"Thank you for tellin' me, love. And thank you for the towels."  
He said, voice tight and snappy. She smiled and went to finish her job for the morning. John hurriedly shut the door,   
"Paul, Pete wake up-"   
//////////  
~knock knock knock~  
George firmly planted on Ringo's door. He was excitedly fidgeting in his blanket, waiting for the door to open. When the door didn't budge, he knocked again.   
"No house-keeping!!"  
Ringo yelled, sounding half asleep. George felt a pool guilt form in his stomach, but he was in too deep to leave now. He knocked again, faster and harder. He then heard the rustling of covers and heavy footsteps. Before the door swung open, he heard the key twist in the lock.   
"Ma'am it's 5 in the morning!!-"  
Ringo stopped mid sentence at the disheveled sight of the boy. They held eye contact, heavy breathing from George being the only thing to break the silence.   
"I had a dream."  
George finally said. All of that time to prepare something to say, he couldn't think of a thing. Ringo broke a smile,   
"Yeah? So was I a couple of seconds ago."  
He chuckled, unlike George. He only admired Ringo, looking over his body in his bed clothes. It drove him further, so he loosened his grip on his blanket. As he relaxed, he continued to undress Ringo with his eyes. There wasn't much to take off, considering he only wore boxers. His bare chest drove George to grow even hotter and harder.   
"Were you dreaming about me?"  
He asked, and Ringo felt his heated body while taking one step out of the door. It made him feel his own heat grow inside of himself, igniting a flush to spread across his exposed chest. After days without seeing George, he had time to process their relationship. If you could call it that even, but Ringo honestly thought it would be much longer before he would see George again. He had to admit, he enjoyed seeing him. He enjoyed it even more knowing he couldn't go a week without rushing to him helplessly. It was terrible, but he loved being needed by a pretty boy with only a blanket covering his blood filled middle.   
"Why don't you come in and I'll tell you all about it?"  
///////////////////  
"I saw him in the elevator, goin up."  
John declared, aggressively shutting his book he opened to try and distract himself from his anger. Poor Paul was awoken at 5 am with loud rants from his friend, and he hadn't been back to sleep.   
"John, once again I don't think this is any of our concern."  
Pete was awoken as well, but he went for a walk to get away from John's exaggerated fits of rage. Paul was always willing to stay and try and calm the man down, but Pete commonly would leave him to settle it himself.   
"It is our concern because you know who stays on the floor above? That damn drummer who plays weekends! And the pretty staff bird said she sees him go in and out of his room all the bloody time Paul! That's who George has been going to see so much, And what if he's-"  
Paul stopped his sentence by throwing his pillow at him, knocking his glasses off his face.   
"John!! This is ridiculous!!! It is almost 6 am and We're all awake because George went to visit someone. He didn't even leave the hotel, he's fine!"  
John stood up, throwing the pillow to the ground. While he began to pace the floor, Paul rolled his eyes and laid back down on the bed. He didn't close his eyes or get too comfortable, he just awaited his response. Hearing each step John took, his mind went to a melody in his head to keep himself from getting too mad. Humming lightly, he still waited.   
"I know he's safe, he could just be hanging around that band!"  
He ran his hands through his greased hair, relaxing them behind his neck. He began to tap his fingers to the beat Paul created. His heartbeat relaxed as he continued to listen to Paul hum. Paul noticed, and smirked as he watched John's temper tantrum subside, as he now began to tap his foot along with his fingers.   
"Where'd you hear that?"  
He asked. Paul's hums softened, looking up at the ceiling and feeling a light spark in his mind.   
"I made the melody back at home. I've been trying to put some words to it but I haven't a clue if they're any good."  
John quickly made his way to Paul's side, shaking him to sit up. Paul did, both giggling. John enjoyed having something to take his mind off of his worries. No matter how much Paul disagrees, he didn't like creating problems between his band mates. But on occasion he couldn't help it, mostly due to his anxiety he had to admit. Especially now, George could be planning to leave the band for a more popular one. Was it likely? No, George was loyal to his friends. But did John's mind leave him alone about it? No, it was driving him insane with illogical situations. But now he had something to properly distract him, and give his nerves a break. And it was in fact one of his favorite things to do, write with Paul.  
"Get your writing book, show me what you've got-"  
Paul stretched to the wall behind John and grabbed his book from his bag. He placed his worn out pencil in his mouth, scooting closer to John while flipping through to find the writings. They sat hip to hip, huddled close. John darted glances back and forth from the pages to Paul. He looked half asleep, and exhausted. They all were weary from being overworked. But John still thought Paul was his reason for ambition.   
"All I've got is 'I saw her standing there' y'kno-"  
He started singing in the tune of the melody he hummed. The pencil making his speech a bit slurred, but John still understood. Not only that, but made him smile at how Paul was too tired to take the writing utensil from his mouth.  
"I saw her standin' there."  
He looked at John, grinning to find he was already looking at him.   
"Now I know, it's not much but I can't fit what I want to say into the tune. 'I saw her standing there. She looked back to me, and I-"  
Paul sighed, rolling his eyes at his own failure and leaning his head on John's shoulder.   
"Don't know what to write."  
He said, his voice still muffled through the wood. John laughed, and took Paul's pencil from his lips. Before he went to writing, he ran his thumb over Paul's mouth. Paul smiled, kissing the tip of John's thumb.   
"The problem is you've got too many words. 'looked back to me.' Is too lengthy. Why not just-"  
He crossed out a few words on the page.  
"She looked at me."   
They both nodded. John looked into the air for more inspiration, tapping the eraser on the paper.   
"She looked at me… well in that situation it'd make a man fall in love don't you think? Or realize he would after too long."  
John spoke, thinking of how to phrase it. Paul took the pencil and began writing as he spoke.   
"And I, I could see. That before too long-"  
John looked at him as he concentrated, knowing all too well what he would say.   
"I'd fall in love with her"  
Paul looked up from the page, seeing John's eyes were wide as he ended his sentence for him. Considering his vision was terrible, John's eyes normally held a seemingly permanent squint. But when he looked at Paul, he couldn't squint if he wanted to. He didn't want to miss anything.   
"Look at us."  
Paul said, his gentle voice relaxing the room. They both looked at each other, sitting sensually close and faces so near they could feel their own flush between the little space between them as their cheeks grew warm. Eyes were fixated in a passionate stare, not even noticing the subtle dawn approaching in the window.   
"Look at us?"  
John asked, wondering what his band mate meant. Paul just nuzzled his nose against John's, breathing in his leg numbing musk. John did the same, feeling Paul's rose petal shaped lips lightly graze his mouth. Their softness only added to the immense stimulation of breathing in Paul's breath.   
"We make a pretty good team don't we? Maybe we should start writing our own songs more frequently?"  
Paul asked, settling a caring hand on John's cheek. John nodded, and placed his own hand on Paul's, kissing his palm.   
While he did this, they heard up-coming footsteps. Their eyes darted to the door, and John quickly snatched Paul's hand away from his face as they both frantically scooted away from each other a few inches. Before Pete burst through the door, they both focused on the journal that fell from Paul's lap onto the bed. Their hearts were racing miles a second, but they didn't look up to Pete in order to keep a casual composure. Unknowingly, they just formed a groundbreaking bond that would never be completely broken. They both felt a shift in their hearts, noticing that maybe even though they're going through hell in Hamburg. It wasn't all for nothing, and it would in time pay off. Looking back, it's easy to remember the hard times. But living through them, it's difficult to see a bright future. But with moments like those, shared between future legends. They gave each other hope when they needed it most. But Pete interrupted a moment he didn't even recognise as the single most important moment in music history, with a long tired yawn, and a sentence that solidified it all.   
"Writing a song together? Hmm-"  
He plopped on the couch, laying down as he took off his jacket to use as a blanket to cover his tired bones. And he mumbled his next words, hardly awake to realize the impact it would have on the two.  
"Maybe you should sign it, Lennon/McCartney?"  
//////////////  
"I feel as if I've made a fool of myself."  
George muttered out, a few steps inside Ringo's room. Feeling the carpet beneath his feet reminded him of how rash this decision was, and how ignorant it likely made him look. Ringo only smiled to himself, shutting the door and turning to the boy who's back was to him. There was a hazy blue that covered the room, coming in through the window and was provided by the first dawn. It made George's skin look exceptionally pale and beautiful, so transparent Ringo noticed one or two lilac veins going up his throat.   
"Why do you say that?"  
Ringo questioned, extending a hand to place on his shoulder. George flinched under his touch, but Ringo was tender. Settling a kind hand on the back of George's neck instead, giving a comforting squeeze to try and relax him.  
"You seem to have been plaguing my dreams, Sir. From the moment you seduced me the only thing I see are your eyes-"  
George stumbled out, words pouring like scalding tea from a kettle. Burning his lips as he continued to give Ringo his soul.   
"Looking up at me like you did. And I don't think it will ever stop, nor do I think I would want it to."  
George ended his sentence by turning to face Ringo, arms shaking as he held tight to his blanket. Ringo took a few seconds to process, back on the door and hand now on George's shoulder. In those small seconds, he saw hundreds of things. And each flash of imagery could be a reason he seemed so drawn to this boy whom if he was honest he didn't even know that well. He saw his fingers gliding over a guitar, what he watched every night at concerts he always made sure to attend. He saw the little small smirks he would give to the massive crowd of girls screaming accompanied by a cock of his brow. He recalled the first night he met him, and the smoke that blossomed around George's face as he lit his cigarette. That was only a small fraction, but Ringo blinked his eyes and smirked at how terrified he looked.   
"Well I'm glad I've given you something you'll remember."  
George paused, but was relieved at the sign of a joke. Ringo started laughing first, then George soon followed. The air was light again, all thanks to Ringo. He felt the blanket that covered George while his laughter turned into little giggles. Taking a small amount in his hand, and bringing his other arm to get the opposite side. George yelped as he felt the man start opening the cover he's used as mental protection for so long, it kept him from feeling too naked. Ringo gasped when he saw he was just in his boxers, as he was as well  
"Darling, it's not wise to run around a hotel not properly clothed."  
He said, pulling George closer by the blanket. He wasn't able to stop considering it covered his back, so he let Ringo bring him in. He didn't realize how cold he was until he felt Ringo's body heat, causing the drummer to wrap themselves up in the thin material.   
"My God you're freezing! Doesn't your room have heat?"  
George laid his head on Ringo's chest, hugging him close as he clung to any warmth he could get.   
"No it doesn't, we practically live in a janitor's closet."  
He explained, voice soft. It was embarrassing, but after going so long without basic needs you start to forget how bad off you are. It was late September and the air was getting crisp and unforgiving. And living in a brick room with little insulation left their "home" in a dry freeze. Ringo looked at George, with his height it was a bit awkward for him to be resting on him. But he was so thin, he hardly felt anything. Every time the drummer saw him he seemed to be smaller, and paler. It only drove Ringo more to care for him, as it seemed living in Hamburg as an upcoming band was killing him. Ringo held him close, dropping the paper-like blanket to the ground.  
"Poor boy- C'mere"  
He stooped down and picked George up from his thighs. The frail kid hardly weighed a thing, but he gasped when Ringo lifted him so easily. Instincts tooned in and he hugged Ringo's neck.   
"Hold on to me, let me warm you up-"  
Ringo told him as he started walking to his bed. George felt him move, and wrapped his legs around his waist to keep stability.   
"I could have walked-"  
George mumbled before being laid onto Ringo's bed. The white sheets felt like silk under him, and the plush pillows to his left were like clouds. George looked up to Ringo who was standing above, but he got comfortable and stretched. Arching his back, and feeling how lavish the bedding and mattress was. His legs that were still straddling Ringo, straightened as he let out all his nervous tension.   
"There you go, go on and get cozy."  
Ringo encouraged and George went from being side-ways to laying correctly in the bed. He scooted over so Ringo could climb in with him, as he did and covered them both up with the thick bed cover. George was enveloped in comfort and warmth, and his body was drawn in closer to Ringo as the drummer pulled him by his waist. George let him, still taking notes on how Ringo's way of living was different from his. The bed he laid under made him feel as if he was going to sink to the floor, while his normal bed was filled with springs and didn't even have sheets on it. The thick throw covering the both of them reminded him of his bedroom blanket back at Liverpool. And it was moments like this he missed home, like a boy does when he's left it too young. And while being held by Ringo, it made the anxiety go away.   
"Rock and Roll is going to kill you."  
The drummer spoke up, opening his eyes to look at George. George gave a chuckle, only to see Ringo wouldn't laugh with him. He cocked a brow, scoffing playfully and rolling his eyes.   
"Kill me?"  
He asked. Ringo thought before explaining, looking back on his early years of his music career. He did all of it. Got drunk every night, played to boozed up crowds. Slept in disgusting conditions, and went weeks without a real meal. It was a time in his life he could only describe as his youth. Even though he technically was still living through his early years, that was the birth of his adolescence. Starting at the age of 16, and being 21 now. 5 years teaches someone a lot. And Ringo knew adolescent rockers when he saw one, being a former one himself. This brought up something he never took into consideration.   
"How old are you, love."  
He asked, sounding as if a point was to be soon proven. George widened his eyes, the pillow under his head growing hot under his flushed face. To Germany he was 18. But being hardly 17 it could be a problem if they found out his real age. Ringo doesn't seem the type to snitch, so he calmed his nerves from that.   
"I'm 19"  
He said, going off of what John always told him. 'If someone asks George, tell em' you're 19 so they take you seriously.' He knew Ringo didn't buy it by the look in his eyes, and the man scoffed. He took a ringed hand and placed it on George's cheek.   
"Don't lie to me, baby boy."  
He told him. George felt the sting of his rings, and the confrontation made his lip quiver. That probably didn't sell his story, it only confirmed the fact it wasn't true.   
"I am, why would I lie?"  
He said. Ringo pulled his face in closer, squinting his eyes and smirking. His face read that he saw right through George.   
"Maybe because you look like you could be hardly 16."  
He said, exaggerating a bit. If he thought George was actually just barely 16 he wouldn't have perused him as harshly as he has been. He knew this would get under the guitarists skin, and his theory was proven right when George's eyes turned into daggers.   
"I'll have you know I'm 17 thank you-"  
He blurted out, shutting his mouth quick. George had been played, but it didn't take long for someone with 5 years experience in getting what he wants to play mind games on a baby rock and roller.   
"19, huh?"  
He smiled, words coming out through giggles. George's lips went thin, face red from embarrassment. His arms started pushing the man away,   
"You can just fuck off if you're going to tease me about it!"  
He protested, earning more giggles from Ringo as the man wrapped his arms around his temper tantrum. George whined and squirmed trying to get free, but if he was honest he wasn't giving it his all. He just felt so embarrassed he had to get some of his emotions out.   
"Oh darling I wasn't teasing you, I don't care if you're 17! Just one year before legal age. Not that big of a deal."  
He hugged George tight as his limb spasms subsided. George's breaths were jittery, bare skin against Ringo's feeling finally warm. Borderline hot in fact. Ringo had to admit, he felt a bit guilty to fancy such a young boy. He never in his life would if the boy's mind didn't seem years above even his own. He was mature to say the least, in more ways than one. Ringo told himself his attraction went deeper than just physical, and he wasn't lying to himself either. But to be morally correct, he wouldn't sleep with the boy until he was much older. Just so his conscious would leave him alone, but it wasn't like that was even on the table yet. Not even near the table in fact, although he couldn't help but explore other ways of physical love.   
"Don't start treating me like a child. Everyone else already does."   
George complained, trying to distract himself from Ringo's skin. Ringo rested back into his pillow further, arms still wrapped around the boy. He couldn't dream of belittling George, whom he greatly respected. He closed his eyes and relaxed further, shaking his head.   
"I don't care if you're 17 George, I've known for a while you weren't as old as you make yourself out to be."  
George watched Ringo close his eyes, the sun just hardly making its way through the window. The words Ringo said comforted George, who was terrified if he knew his real age it would greatly affect their dynamic. Everything was easy with Ringo, it was one of the reasons George loved to spend time with him. No drama, no stress, and no fighting. It was a whole different world than what he was used to in his own band.  
“I’m lucky to have you Ringo.”  
George muttered, resting his head under Ringo’s chin. He had to have his legs lay a little longer than his to fit so comfortably, but it was perfect. Ringo relaxed his chin on the boy’s head, hugging him closer.   
“Damn right you are, kid.”  
In the relaxed atmosphere, a little chuckle could be heard from George. Ringo slowly opened one eye, and looked down to see him. He grinned,  
“What are you laughing about?”  
He asked. George couldn’t stop with his giggles. Shaking his head and scooting up slightly to look at Ringo. His lips curled into a sly smirk, little dimples on each side of his cheeks. Ringo looked him up and down,   
“What’s given you a case of the giggles?”  
He asked. George snorted, covering his mouth so it wouldn’t be too loud. Ringo waited for him to answer, watching George move his hand away from his mouth. Ringo looked at his bright smile as he answered his question with a question.  
“Did you really pull a knife on someone for touching your drum set?”  
He inquired, wanting to see if his reputation preceded him. He couldn’t imagine it being true, he couldn’t even begin to believe the cuddly man next to him could harm even a fly. Ringo rolled his eyes with a long sarcastic sigh.   
“I was shit faced drunk and the bastard was drunker than I was, you have to take care of your instruments.”  
He said. George laughed even harder to see it was true, and Ringo’s mouth went agape to see him almost mocking him. After a few seconds, George’s giggles quieted down.   
“Are you laughing at me?”  
He asked, and George quickly shut his mouth. His eyes were wide with excitement, lips tight so he couldn’t laugh. Ringo moved his arms to touch George’s sides,  
“No no, let me hear that laugh of yours-“  
He said, tickling the boy. George gripped his wrists.  
“Don’t you dare!”  
He warned. Ringo ignored him, causing the boy to go into wild spams. All the while his eruption of giggles made Ringo’s heart pound, so he touched other parts of his body to earn his laughter. The covers could be seen whipping up and down, as the boy's legs continued to jerk. Ringo’s hands made their way to George’s thighs, and his tickling turned into pulling his middle closer to him. George gasped, eyes squeezed shut. It was such a quick movement it hardly left time for either of them to react, and the air between them went red. Ringo purposely caught him off guard because he loved to see his shocked expression. And it was addictively adorable to see George try to regain control of his own body, twitching his thighs to occupy the blood flow.   
“Richie-“  
It was arousing to hear his actual name spill from his lips. George opened his eyes and glanced at Ringo’s mouth, the drummer noticed and smirked.   
“Can I kiss you?”  
Ringo asked. George’s eyes darted to his, blue shade causing his body to flare up in goosebumps. The question was left without an answer, George’s mouth hung open. Ringo leaned in only slightly, and the boy’s jaw clamped shut. The man knew he was shy, and stumbling over his thoughts. He trailed a calloused hand from George’s thigh, light finger grazing up his spine. George felt a tingling surge through his body, twitching as Ringo’s hand made it to his face as he smoothly pulled him in closer. He didn’t stop him. He invited it, leaning with his touch. The scent of the man’s mouth, even if it was technically morning breath, attracting him further and drawing him in. Ringo’s mouth felt like the sun, and it shook George’s body all at once. The kiss was an intense combination of soft lips and dripping tongues, but it was over in a matter of seconds. Ringo pulled away, only to see if George was comfortable. George quickly chased his mouth, and the connection was back as quickly as it ended.   
/////////////////  
The song was on the brink of being finished, but their exhaustion had gotten the best of them. John and Paul passed out against their will, laid about on the bed. The book filled with writings sprawled across the covers, loose pages littering their laps. With Pete still on the couch, the pair did their best to keep their distance even in sleep. But now as they laid shoulder to shoulder, they peacefully faced each other. Noses close, and faces near pure contentment. John could feel himself waking up, but he just listened to the world around him before opening his eyes. He listened to the birds chirping, and Paul breathing next to him. It was relaxing to be so comfortable next to a man he held so close to his heart. He felt Paul’s breath on his lips, and the feeling caused him to awaken even more. His lips parted, and eyes slowly opened into small slits. Paul was angelically laying next to him, sun leaving his cheeks slightly rosey. John smiled to himself, scooting to the bass player a little closer. Paul’s eyes fluttered open with the sudden movement, seeing John close to him. He nuzzled his nose on his friends, earning a grin from John.   
“Morning Paulie.”  
He said. Paul chuckled, stretching as his body woke up.  
“Good morning, Johnny.”  
He said after a yawn. Their peaceful awakening wasn’t going to last long. They both heard footsteps approaching their room, and Paul knew if it was George, John would go into a frenzy of rants toward the young boy. But before he could offer some words of wisdom to John, George quietly opened the door. He probably thought everyone was still sleeping, but sadly for him they weren’t. John jumped up at the sound of George’s footsteps, making the boy jump as well. The young guitarist looked like a kid that was just caught sneaking out of his parents house, but this is much worse. An extremely pissed off Lennon caught him.   
“Where the bloody hell have you been?!”  
He roared, not waiting for George’s answer before he had already jumped up from the bed.   
“Bathroom?!”  
George yelled back, eyebrows flared up and angry. It was a quick lie that anyone could have come up with, and John saw right through.   
“Don’t try to lie to the person that taught you how to, now tell me where you fucking were!”  
He crossed his arms and waited for the truth. Paul sat up from the bed,  
“George, we know.”  
He said calmly, trying to end this argument fast. Pete was waking up from the couch due to all the screaming.   
“The hotel staff lady told John she sees you hangin’ with the crazy drummer of the other hotel band.”  
He grumbled, lazily lifting up from the couch. George’s face went stark white in front of his friends. In the midst of everything, a strong silence was held. George let out a long sigh.   
“Well. You remember how you wondered if he actually pulled a knife over his drums, John?”  
He asked, causing the already infuriated man to grit his teeth.   
“He did, in fact.”


	12. Just a temporary fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve been away for a while. Sorry about that, of course. I decided to give you a lengthy one because of it, starting off kinda sad. Hope you don’t mind the little edge I gave it. Happy reading~

The year was 1956, and a fourteen year old Paul McCartney was getting ready for the day. His teeth and hair were nice and brushed, and he was rushing down the stairs.   
“Paul, no running in the house.”   
His mother’s voice raised from the kitchen, just as Paul ran to the door.   
“I’ll be back for lunch Mum!”  
He told her on his way out. She looked out to her son through the kitchen window above the sink where she was standing cleaning dishes.   
“You’d better, not a second late Mister!”  
She rolled her eyes at his running. She felt unbelievably weak, and tired. Like she had been for months it seemed now. So she didn’t press Paul to stay for breakfast. She slowed down her cleaning, feeling her head go dizzy within seconds, as she watched her son make his way further down the street. Paul was always off to make pocket change, running to do old lady’s shopping around his street. Each would give him an extra pound to keep for his troubles, which he accepted thankfully. He often found himself sitting next to them, listening to their stories and wisdom. It was fascinating to him, to find their joy in recalling their youth. His first stop was perhaps a little less than a block away from his home. He knocked on her door, knowing she was probably expecting him. He stood patiently, also knowing she was rather slow moving considering her age. When the door finally opened he was greeted warmly.  
“Paul! Thank goodness, come in lad.”  
He waved at her sweetly,  
“Hello, Mrs Bailey!”   
He walked into her home, and was met with the sweet smell of baked goods. His stomach quickly reminded him he was so eager this morning he had forgotten breakfast. Mrs Bailey gestured to him so he would follow her into the kitchen. Walking down the small hall, Paul glanced at the photos that decorated the walls. Her children, who were grown and gone. Husband who had passed away two years ago. She was all alone. It made Paul feel not only sorry, but it made him frightened of growing old. But he was more than happy with keeping her company for a few hours.   
“Whatcha got in the oven, Mrs Bailey?”  
He asked. She giggled, watching him sit down at the table while she made her way to the oven.   
“Fresh biscuits, suppose you’d like some wouldn’t you?”   
Paul shook his head, an excited smile on his face.   
“If it wouldn’t trouble you, yes please.”  
He said. The woman smiled, reaching for the counter for an oven mitt. Paul waited patiently, deciding to start a conversation.  
“What all do you need from the market today, Ma’am?”  
He asked. Mrs Bailey, while sitting the pan on the oven top, pointed over the fridge behind where Paul sat.   
“The list is written there. Nothing too heavy for you, so you won’t have a hard time walking home.”   
She ran a hand through her short grey hair, adjusting her glasses as she looked over to Paul. He turned, grabbing the paper from the fridge, and scanning it over.   
“Mrs Bailey you know I can carry more than the average boy.”  
He joked, folding it and putting it in his pocket. The woman laughed, grabbing tea cups from her drying rack and sitting down across from Paul.   
“The lord is going to strike you down lad, for lying like that!”  
She sat the cup in front of him. After that they had tea and a small chat. A small chat that lasted maybe an hour and a half. Paul had four biscuits, being a growing boy. And two cups of tea that definitely served as a little snack before the lunch his mother always had ready for him. That quickly reminded him what his mother had warned before he had rushed off. He glanced over to the clock above the stove, reading 11 o’clock.   
“Have you got somewhere to be dear?”  
Mrs Bailey asked after noticing his head snap to her clock. Paul looked back to her, nodding.  
“My Mum told me to be back by lunch, I’ve only got an hour till 12.”  
He took his last sip of tea before telling her,  
“Please do excuse me, but I’d better be off Ma’am.”   
Mrs Bailey nodded her head, giving him a simple smile.   
“How is your dear Mum, love?”  
She asked, right as Paul went to stand. Her voice held a lot of care, but was stained with a tinge of worry. Paul only spoke to her about how he worried for his mother. It was a secret connection they had, if you wanted to see it that way. Paul wasn’t ignorant, he always noticed how fatigued his mother seemed to be these days. And how she got easily tuckered out, or light headed. She was taking longer naps than usual. Her face seemed to always be drained of all color. Paul didn’t stand, he stayed put.   
“I think she might be a bit better. She seemed cheerful today.”   
He said. You would think he’d be happy to say those words, but his voice went quiet.   
“Has she not gone to the doctor like you’ve asked her to?”   
Paul crossed his arms, head shaking as he looked to the distance. The lady’s words were sincere, and he wished the answer was yes. But his reality wasn’t as simple as that.  
“She said if she feels any worse than she’ll go, but other than that no.”  
And that was the end of it. The kind woman nodded, eyes sympathetic and gentle. Paul was quiet, mind being reminded of a great fear he had. The thought of something ever happening to his mom. It was silly he knew, but even Paul had to worry about some things. He was off to the market now, shopping list and money in his pocket. It wasn’t far from where he was, now being further down the street. One turn and he would be there. He kicked the rocks, feeling the gravel under his sneakers. He let the simple feeling calm him down, under the hot summer sun.   
“McCartney!”  
Paul was snapped back to reality, looking up to a house he’d been many times before. A quaint little home, with a swing on the porch. Sitting on the swing was a thirteen year old George Harrison. He wasn’t sitting for long though, as he jumped up and ran across his yard. Paul lit up at the sight of his friend, waiting for George so he could walk with him.   
“Hey Harry, how’s it hangin’?”  
George giggled as he made it next to him. They walked down the street together, George offering him a stick of gum.  
“You're going to the market for ol’ Mrs Bailey again, huh?”  
He asked, while Paul took a piece of candy. He nodded,  
“Well yeah, seems like a nice thing to do.”   
George knocked his arm, scoffing at his words.   
“Hanging out with old lady’s and getting their groceries for one pound each? Doesn’t seem like a fair trade to me.”   
Paul knocked him back, blowing a juvenile raspberry.   
“Look she’s not so bad okay. Plus, those small pounds added to my allowance is a pretty good deal.”  
George laughed, sticking his tongue out back at him. They were slowly making their way down the street, enjoying each other’s company.  
“Well anyway, do you wanna come over to my house when you’re done? My Mum made chocolate cake for my brother's birthday a couple of days ago. Maybe if we ask nicely she’ll let us have a slice after lunch.”   
George asked. Paul actually liked the sound of that, George’s Mum really knew how to bake. But he rubbed the back of his neck,  
“I told my Mum I’d be back by lunch, I’ve only got a little bit to get home.”   
George nodded,   
“But my Mum’s the one who made cake.”   
Paul rolled his eyes, a smile spread across his face. He would go to George’s, but he didn’t like leaving his mom alone for very long. So he would compromise.  
“Well you can come over to my house for lunch, we can watch T.V. with some jello.”   
George nodded, stopping in his tracks.   
“I should go ask my Mum, then I can meet you there after you get done shopping.”   
Paul agreed, shrugging his shoulders.   
“Yeah, I guess hang out with Peter until I get there.”  
And it was settled. George was off to his house, and Paul to the market. They had only made it a few feet from George’s house, so George ran with haist   
“Mum!”  
He yelled. He was sitting on the sofa in his living room, sewing a hole in a pair of pants that needed it.   
“George, what is it dear?”  
She asked without looking up.  
“Can I eat lunch over at Paul’s? I just met him on the way to the market outside.”   
His mother laughed to herself, setting the needle down and looking at him.   
“Have they enough food for you, you almost eat us out of house and home. You’ve just had a snack.”  
George groaned, moving closer and puckering a lip out.   
“Mum!”  
He begged. She set the jeans down on her lap and held her arms up,   
“Give me a hug before you go, darling.”  
George’s face perked up, and he hugged his mother quickly, and added a small peck on her cheek. George Harrison was a Mommy’s boy if you’d ever seen one. He ran past house after house, childlike glee evident in the air. Just as Paul had, finally making it to the market. The both of them were excited for their fun get together soon to come, especially Paul who really needed it after worrying about his mother so much. George saw Paul’s house in the distance, and slowed down his running to an excited walk. As he got closer, he prepared himself to be polite to Paul’s sweet mother. It was always stressful to talk to your friends parents, but he didn’t worry much about Paul’s mom. All she asked was that they don’t rough house, and if she has a headache to keep the noise down. Which was pretty much how his own mom ran things so he felt at home. As he stepped up the McCartney home steps, he wiped his hands off on his jeans before knocking on the door. Seconds went after he did, and then seconds turned into minutes. He hated to, but he knocked again. After that time, the door knob weakly twisted, the entrance creeping open. George’s face went white at the sight of Mrs McCartney. Her hair, usually kept in a neat bun, was unkempt and stringy. Her eyes seemed to be sunk in, dark circles making the blue color of them pierce George’s mind. Her skin was transparent, a layer of sweat making some strands of her hair stick to the sides of her face. She was leaning against the door, almost unable to stand.   
“George, Dear. Paul’s not home I’m sorry.”  
She managed to get out, voice unbearably haunting. It was quiet, and breathy. Seeming to take all the energy she had. George was unable to speak for a few moments.  
“Mrs McCartney are you alright?”  
He finally said. Her hand went to her head, stumbling back a bit and the hand that was once on the door knob held herself up on the wall. George quickly went to her side, taking her hand from her head and guiding her.   
“I’m terribly tired-“  
She mumbled, and she tried to walk. George held on to her, kicking the door closed as he walked her down to the living room. It became too much for her, as her legs gave out from underneath. She collapsed, and poor George couldn’t hold her.   
“Peter! Peter, get down here!!”  
He yelled up to the young boy. His hand still held hers, and as he heard Peter's footsteps come rushing down. He watched her eyes roll to the back of her head.   
“Mom- Mommy what’s wrong?!”   
George haved his arm frantically for Peter to look away. No child deserved to look at their mother like this. Laying on the floor unable to move, almost like a vacant body. It was terrifying.   
“No Peter, go phone an ambulance! Go, now!”  
He screamed. Peter ran away to their phone in the kitchen, but George stayed next to Mrs McCartney. She was still breathing, that was good. But they were low and shallow breaths. George listened to Peter talk into the phone, and he waited for him to come back so he could get up.  
“Stay with her, make sure she keeps breathing. I’m going to get Paul.”   
George started running. Just as Paul was walking out of the market. He held a paper bag, walking to the sidewalk. A grin evident on his face. As he got closer to the street, a sound rang through his ears. His eyes shot up to see an ambulance racing down the street, and his heart sank. His mind went immediately to the worst, but as he continued walking he calmed himself down by humming a song. It didn’t have a particular name, but the tune came easy to him. His eyes stayed to the ground, waking further to get to Mrs Bailey's house. George still was making his way to him with a fast haist. He was surprised to see the ambulance already headed towards Paul’s house, but he guessed that’s the perks of living in a small community. It didn’t make him slow down, if anything he sped up. When he finally had paul in his sights, he tried going even faster. But his long legs got tangled up, and he began to trip over his own feet. He never was too good at running, but he regained balance before falling completely. Paul saw his friend’s little accident, lightly jogging the rest of the way to him.   
“George, did Mum say you can’t stay? I didn’t think she would mind, I’m sorry to trouble you.”  
Paul looked at him, and his chest was heaving up and down from his heavy breathing. George’s hands were on his knees as he was recollecting himself.   
“Goodness, did you run all the way from my house?”  
Paul giggled. George’s heart couldn’t stand what he was about to have to do. He sat up, eyes dark and skin lightly grazed with sweat. His cheeks were bright red, and he looked like he might start balling. Paul’s smirk faded quickly, and being the clever boy he was he began to piece everything together. He wasn’t accepting what his mind was telling him. He shook his head no,  
“What’s happened?”   
George didn’t know what to say, he’s never been in a situation even remotely like this.  
“It’s your Mum, Paulie. She’s sick-”   
Paul’s eyes widened, head lighting on fire. His stomach tied into several knots, and his knuckles ached with anxiety. It hit him all at once, and his voice became frantic.   
“Sick, what do ya mean sick?! I just saw her and she was fine! What’s-”  
His throat made his vocal cords close before he started to tear up.   
“She collapsed.”   
Was all George said. Paul’s thoughts made his head go into a frenzy. He shoved the paper bag into George’s hands before chasing after his house. It was the fastest he’d ever gone, and the houses going by him all looked like a blur. And in this quick mind numbing run, that he’d done thousands of times. It was like he could feel his innocence being ripped from him. Along with his childhood. When he saw his house, he saw an image that would be permanently engraved into his mind for the rest of his life. The sight of his unconscious mother being hauled out of his house on a metal hospital stretcher, dozens of aid surrounding her. That was the last time Paul McCartney saw his mother alive.  
And then he woke up.   
In a cold sweat. His body shaking in the freezing room of Hamburg. He felt like vomiting, but he settled with hyperventilating. He couldn’t comprehend the overwhelming feeling of seeing his mother alive and well, and having her ripped from him again like it was nothing. It felt so real, like he was back to being a small helpless 14 year old boy. Crying in the middle of the night, unable to breath. John was next to him, woken slightly. In his dazed mind he saw Paul, shaking and afraid. And instantly, he wasn’t in a dazed state anymore. He shot up next to his best friend, hand going to his shoulder.   
“Paul?! Paul what is it?”  
He said, hushed voice fast and frantic. Paul couldn’t speak, and John watched him cover his mouth so he wouldn’t scream. His stomach and chest was moving up and down from the breath coming in through his nose. The breath wasn’t helping him, it only made him light headed. He covered his nose along with his mouth. John shook his head,   
“Paul, no stoppit. Paul breath-”  
John grabbed his hands away from his face. Paul started jerking away from his grasp,   
“She was here, she was right here!”  
Paul’s voice was broken, only speaking through painful gasps for air. Everyone jumped up to see Paul’s hands starting to roughly hit his skull, pain making his panic attack worse, but he was so angry at himself for not cherishing seeing his mother alive while he had the chance. John knew exactly what was wrong the second he spoke those words. He grabbed his wrists, having to wrestle with them a bit to get him still. John quickly pulled him into a hug, eyes seeing George and Pete and Stuart watching him. He set a finger over his mouth so they wouldn’t make a sound. Paul sobbed into his neck, words coming out jumbled and fast. John just held him.   
“She was right there Johnny and I didn’t hug her, I just walked right past her! I didn’t even look at her-”   
His breath went fast again, sobs coming in more quick and harsh. Everyone watched with sympathetic eyes. George felt himself get choked up, knowing his friend was in pain, mind even remembering the day his mom went into the hospital. John shushed him,  
“Don’t you say another word, love. Breath Paulie, just breath.”  
He rubbed a hand over his hair, another on his back. Paul calmed down. Breath still a little jittery, but at least his head wasn’t dizzy.   
“She’ll come back to you Paul. You’ll see her again, I promise.”   
And John didn’t mean just in heaven, but in his dreams. *not to mention John was a bit on the fence on the whole God thing* He dreamt of his mother often too. And he’s been in just this situation. So he held Paul until he pulled away. He slowly over several minutes felt Paul relax in his embrace, and soon Paul hugged him back. After all that Paul was unbelievably exhausted, it being maybe 3 am. Paul sat up from John’s neck, wiping his face from random bodily fluids. Tears. Snot. Saliva. Maybe even a little bit of John's neck sweat in there, who knows. He looked back at his bandmates whose eyes were wide and worried.  
“You can go back to sleep now. Shows over. Sorry for waking everyone.”  
He said, wiping his nose with the hem of his shirt.   
“Are you okay Paul?”  
George quickly asked. Pete and Stuart said after George.  
“Yeah Paul you okay?”  
“Do you need a glass of water? I wouldn’t mind going and getting you one.”  
Paul shook his head, puffy eyes rolling. But he still smiled weakly.  
“No no, I’m fine now. Just need to lay down. Let’s go back to bed.”   
John narrowed his eyes, giving Paul a questionable look. Paul knew he was worried, but he nodded to reassure him he was fine. They all went back to bed, having barely been sober due to the fact they stayed up the night before drinking their minds away. It didn’t take long for their bodies to drift back into a deep slumber. All except John and Paul. John was too worried to go to sleep after such a ruckus, and Paul wasn’t going to sleep after a nightmare like that. He closed his eyes though, to try and relax. John watched him, eyes glazing over each feature he had. He made sure Paul was okay. A comfortable silence formed, shadows encasing them in a blissful relaxation. John long assumed Paul was asleep. And maybe the boy was right on the verge, but he still felt when John placed a gentle hand on his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, glancing up at John.   
“I thought you wanted to go to bed?”  
The auburn haired man smirked. Although you couldn’t hardly tell his hair was auburn, due to his locks being coated in a thick layer of grease at all times.   
“I thought we’d stopped doing these things late at night when we’re clearly intoxicated.”  
Paul stated. It was true, they agreed to keep their hands to themselves. It never really worked. And they both knew it, but Paul loved to tease him.   
“You want to go to the practice room?”   
John asked. The hotel had a designated room for bands to go over their music. In all actuality, it was just a party room that bands used when no occasions were scheduled. The reason we’re just now hearing of it though, is because the Silver Beatles stupidly never used it. Paul cocked a brow,   
“And why would we go there?”  
He whispered. John thought a moment, knowing the reason was he’d kill for a few moments to be alone with Paul. But he had to come up with something.   
“We could take the last of the liquor and take shots while practicing songs we could improve on. If we’re going to be up for a while, we might as well be productive.”   
Paul couldn’t say no to John when he looked so eager. True it was close to 4 am. And true again, they could use some extra sleep. But they got up, threw on some clothes. Grabbed their bottles and instruments and ran through the hotel. They had to suppress their giggles,   
“Shhh!”  
Paul said as they pressed the elevator button laughing. If they woke anyone up, the hotel would get complaints about the drunk band members. But when they got into the elevator, as soon as the door closed. They both burst into laughter, hands full of their things.   
“You’re a bad influence on me, Johnny. I used to be a good kid before I met you, now I’m a juvenile delinquent.”  
Paul said between gasps of air, from laughing so hard. John gasped,  
“Aww, poor Paul McCartney!”   
Paul stuck his tongue out, just as the elevator opened. They were in the lobby. They looked out, seeing if anyone was there. The only person there was a young man who sat at the lobby desk. He was passed out asleep, laying back in his chair. Mouth embarrassingly open, snoring due to deep sleep. The boys covered their mouths to keep from laughing, running past the boy quick to not wake him up. The long hallway beside the check in desk was filled with doors they had no idea what was inside, but they knew the big set of doors that was at the end of the hallway was the room they were looking for. John set his guitar on the wall slowly, not to make any noise. His hand fiddled with the door, and to their dismay it was locked. Paul let out a disappointed sigh, All the bass player was able to get out of his mouth before his best mate was fiddling around in his pockets was   
“We came all this way for nothin’-”  
John pulled out a hair clip, smirking at the sight.   
“Where’d you get that?!”  
Paul asked. John pushed the clip inside the lock, looking for where it fit in best.  
“Astrid had loads of them on her bathroom vanity, I was pissing one day and said to myself-”  
The lock made a noise, as John’s hand twisted right. His hand went to the door knob and it opened effortlessly.   
“I might need one of those.”  
He said smiling back at Paul. The bassist was smiling stupidly, gesturing his head for John to go in so they wouldn’t get caught this early in the morning. They could have waited until later in the day, to ask the manager for the key. But something that was so invigorating about John, he did things the wrong way just because he could. Paul couldn’t help but tag along in his antics. The room was pitch black, and Paul closed the door behind them, locking it instinctively.  
“Paul, find a light switch now-”  
John’s voice was shaken, and Paul was quickly reminded. Now matter how tough John acted, he was still his sweet friend that was afraid of the dark. Paul sat his bass and bottle of liquor down, hands going to the wall and he quickly flicked the switch. The light shed on them, and John’s face was red. Paul walked to him, face calm.  
“I’m here Johnny, now let’s have ourselves a little party of our own.”   
John’s jaw clenched at Paul’s sensual way of saying it, but they walked further into the room to get going on the festivities. It wasn’t a complicated set up, two rows of tables with chairs, leading up to a stage at the top of the room. There was an aisle, where they both stood, and John pulled two chairs for them both to sit in.   
“Liquor, please Sir.”  
John said as he sat, and Paul walked to him, hands filled with the request John so politely demanded. He held out the bottle to John, and the man quickly unscrewed the cap. They didn’t bring any shot glasses, so they had to do it teddy boy style. John knocked the bottle back, getting a mouthful that he felt go straight to his head, and burn down his throat. Paul watched, eyes a little too interested for his own good. John passed the bottle to him, but he held it for a moment. John eyed him, and nodded with a cocked brow.  
“Go on then, Macca.”  
He said. Paul decided to play a game. He knocked the bottle back, and unlike John he took two big gulps. John’s eyes scanned over him as Paul fought not to choke. He leaned over, snatching the bottle from his friends hands. John did him one better. Three, big, and painful gulps. He felt the burning sensation in his nose, fighting with himself not to break composure. In all actuality, they really just wanted to turn their light buzz into blackout drunk. And Paul made that clear by downing four mouthfuls. But the boy went into a fit of coughs, throat on fire. John started clapping for him, laughing at his friend's gasps for air. Paul knew it was all in good fun, so he wasn’t hurt, if you didn’t count him coughing up a lung.   
“God you’re cute when you’ve had a bad night.”   
John said, taking the bottle for himself. Paul sat back in his chair, stretching his legs so that when they spread they were straddling John’s chair. John looked at the kid, thoughts verging on dirty.   
“And you’re cute when you’re afraid of the dark.”  
Paul said back, watching John drink more. His lips curled around the glass, and Paul was shamelessly staring.   
“I’m not fucking scared, I just don’t like it.”  
He corrected the boy. Paul sat up, taking the bottle.   
“Well excuse me.”  
He taunted, only lifting the glass slightly to take a little sip. John leaned in with him, elbows going to his knees as did Paul’s. Their faces were close, maybe an inch and a half between them. The air was warm, and their faces weren’t just red from the liquor. John eyed his friend up and down slowly, feeling his need for him grow. It wasn’t the only thing growing, either. Paul parted his lips, watching the guitar player eye him like a child in a candy store. A grin made it on the younger man's face, leaning in a bit closer. John lifted up a bit, the initiative giving him anxiety. But Paul continued, and playfully nuzzled his nose on John’s. It was innocent, and seemingly without any other intention other than friendly. Paul was definitely the best flirt in the entire band, and he showed out often. John had seen him do this to countless girls, and he usually scoffed at how romantic it was. But when it was actually being done to him, a heat stirred inside his stomach that left his legs shaking. He hated being toyed with like this, and how effortlessly Paul did it. John nuzzled back, their lips now so close that breathing was just exchanging each other's air supply. It was erotic, and yet they weren’t even kissing. John’s hand went to the back of Paul’s neck, drawing him closer so that their lips grazed so softly on each other that they felt slick and plush. Paul inhaled sharply, the taste of his friend fresh in his mouth. The younger man moaned lightly, hand that gripped the bottle going limp between his legs.   
“Fuck, why do you make my cock so God damn hard-”  
Paul whined, making John smirk.   
“You haven’t even kissed me yet, why are you already so worked up?”  
John teased, knowing why he was, it was the same reason his cock was making his own jeans unbelievably tight. Paul closed the incredibly small gap between them after looking into John’s eyes with boiling desire. Mouths were open so they could taste everything they wanted, while their spit mixed. Both eagerly lapping up each other’s warmth while the sound of wet smacking filled the room. They knew the instruments they brought would be put to no use, even if in their minds they had every intention of practicing songs. The moment they were alone, the two of them couldn’t help themselves. Especially if alcohol was involved. John took the bottle from Paul’s hand and set it down, the motion being quick. His hand was immediately back pulling the bass player closer, so Paul graciously scooted. They both needed a bit of relief after the stressful awakening they both had, especially Paul. John grabbed the boy's hand and guided it to the swell in his jeans, shivering when he palmed it with a joyful smile starting on his lips.  
“Feel that cock, I bet you wanna taste it too.”  
John huffed in the bassist's ear. Paul giggled, resting his head on John’s shoulder. His hand then relaxed on the guitarists thigh, slowing the make out session down for his own good. Him and John had escalated their physical relationship to, on special occasions when they were completely alone, Paul let his mouth get used by his loyal leader. It was all consensual, and oftentimes Paul seemed to be craving it. It was a slow progression, their attraction to each other. First they just slip a few kisses, and touch here and there. Then it got more intense, leading to the two radiating lust whenever they were alone for even two seconds. Now, instead of just waiting until they coincidentally got alone time, they sought after what little bit of time they shared. But Paul couldn’t do it tonight, he was too inside of his head to pleasure John the way he was used to doing. The dream really made him recoil into anxious thoughts. John hugged him, rubbing circles on his back.   
“You know you don’t have to, silly Paulie. Is that nightmare still eating at your mind?”  
John enquired. Paul, face still in John's neck, nodded his head lightly. John hugged him tighter, quickly pulling him into his lap. Paul hugged the larger man, hiding his reddening face further into John’s neck.   
“Sit on Johnny’s lap and turn off your mind.”   
Paul gripped tighter, whimpering a bit. John had never felt so protective in his life. The fact Paul trusted him to let his guard down made John certain he would always be safe with him. They were silent for a bit as they both waited for Paul’s mind to calm down. It was in fact, thanks to John’s help. Paul’s legs were straddling John’s waist, their middles meeting. It, after a few moments, became increasingly obvious that warmth was growing between them. It was inevitable. Paul felt his body involuntarily draw closer to John’s.   
“There you go, lovie.”  
John coaxed him. They grew increasingly hot when John’s hands began to wonder, down Paul’s back and closing in on his bum. The bassist raised his head a bit, still resting his chin on John’s shoulder. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly. His eyes wandered to his friend's ear, mouth making its way to it. He remembered how sensitive this part of his body was when the pretty bird George had lost his virginity too did her fair share of John teasing.   
“I love it when I get man handled, especially by my big strong Johnny boy.”   
Paul whispered. John’s body was sent into uncontrollable convolutions, mouth wide open. He didn’t let any noise come out, knowing if he did it would wake up everyone in that hotel building. He gripped Paul’s ass, face red and feverish. Paul did him one better, and grinded into John’s swell inside of his jeans.  
“Fuck-”  
The man groaned while Paul grinded harder. John was overcome with libedo, and intense friction. He suddenly got an idea. A teenage boy overcome with sadness, which caused him inevitable lust. A sad horny boy deserved a good blow. John had to admit, this wasn’t the first time he considered sucking Paul McCartney’s cock, but it was the first time he actually had the opportunity. And while feeling the boys swell grow on his own, he halted the friction.  
“Paul, Paulie-”  
He gasped, trying to get his attention because he wouldn’t stop the sway of his hips. John loved it, but through jeans after a while it wasn’t the best feeling.   
“What John, what is it?!”  
Paul huffed, raising up to look at the man. His face was scrunched up, frustrated due to the pause.   
“So eager tonight, it doesn’t have anything to do with you trying to hide your sadness with an explosive cum does it?”  
John cocked a brow. Paul scoffed, eyes rolling to the side.   
“If I say yes can we continue?”  
He said. John tapped his thighs so he would stand up, which the boy did with another annoyed huff. He sat back on his chair, and looked at John.  
“Guess that’s a no.”  
Paul crossed his arms. It was adorable to see him so sexually frustrated. John adjusted himself in his seat, looking at the upset boy.  
“You’ll cum darling, so don’t you get an attitude.”  
Paul scrunched his legs at the arousing words. John took his hands and settled them on the bassists knees, leaning in and giving a sweet smile.   
“Be patient with me-”  
John muttered, spreading Paul’s legs. The younger man’s mouth went agape for a moment. Eyes scanning up and down his friends before landing on his hands that were unzipping his pants.   
“John-”  
Paul gasped, before John silenced him with a stern look. It was a big deal for the guitarist, the both of them knowing he had never done it himself before. He wanted to make Paul feel better, even if he had to take it slow. The boys jeans went around his thighs, his needy cock springing in the air. The cool air made him shiver, but the heat from John’s hands made it bearable. John gazed at the man's red, puffy head. Paul’s eyes were glazed and his legs were spread excitedly. He tried to stay away from women in this country, not only because he had this little thing with John. But most of them were prostitutes anyway. So he hadn’t felt a warm mouth on his cock for months, and in all actuality he was even more thrilled because it was coming from John.   
“How come the biggest flirt has the smallest cock?”  
John joked, still eyeing it like it was his favorite kind of drug. Paul was used to the small dick jokes by now, being with a group of mean spirited boy’s led to such things. So he just smiled while he rested a hand on John’s cheek.   
“It’s still got you on your knees doesn’t it?”  
He clarified. John’s eyes rolled back, leaning his head into Paul’s hand. It made his thighs tremble knowing the bassist was absolutely right. Paul’s hand trailed down his face, thumb landing on his lips and tracing around them. His face held a seductive smirk, thin brows cocked.   
“Now you’ve never done this before, so let me interest you in some pointers-”  
Paul’s voice was low, and slow. John’s eyes were wide as he looked up at him, feeling his thumb coax his mouth open.   
“I know it’s called sucking dick, but you actually just wanna open your mouth wide.”  
He said while he opened John’s mouth further, the man moaning lightly as he did.   
“And let those lips of yours glide over my cock. But if you think about it it’s all really about personal preference.”  
He explained, watching John stick his tongue out with heavy lidded eyes. Paul chuckled, seeing spit form and drip from John’s mouth onto his cock. Paul shivered when he felt his hand wrap around him and stroke. It was a part of the man’s mental preparation, and he marveled at how it shined in the casual light from his saliva.   
“Good, oh Good Johnny-”  
Paul sighed, but he wasn’t pressuring him to start. But John giggled, looking down between the boys legs.   
“Alright, just..”  
He lowered himself, mouth getting closer. Paul’s eyes watched him, hands going to his hair while John finally wrapped his lips around his head. The younger man weakly groaned, seeing his lovers eyes go glazed at the taste of him. Stealing all of those suckers from the local candy shop really helped John in this situation, as he swirled his tongue around the tip. Paul tasted sweeter, he noted, and it was much more gratifying to feel him squirm under his mouth than it was just being a skilled thief. He was working up the courage to go down further, but Paul appreciated how slow he was going. John got bold, engulfing him quickly.  
“Fuck!”  
Paul gasped. But by the time John made it with only an inch of him left, it hit the back of his throat. He lifted up, gagging as a pool of spit fell from his mouth onto Paul’s cock. He was gasping, catching his lost breath. Paul moaned at the sight, pulling John by his hair.   
“You joke about me being small, but you still fucking gag on it.”   
He said, voice gritty and dripping with arousal. John exclaimed as the handful of his hair stung, but the pain went to his own dick. Paul shushed him, leaning up from the chair.  
“Open that mouth, Johnny boy. Seems like you need some help.”  
John felt something new, being the submissive one for once. It was humiliating. It made him mad. But it didn’t stop him from moaning when he opened his mouth for Paul, doing exactly what he was told. Paul put his two hands on each side of John’s head, and John’s eyes darted up to him when he knew what was coming next. His voice went from low groans to a bunch of quick whines. But they were interrupted by the sound of his mouth being filled with Paul. Paul would never do this to a woman, or anyone really. But he was closer to John than any human on this earth. The man with the biggest mouth, that he’s always wanted shut up. John did his best to keep his teeth out of the way, as he felt Paul slowly lift his head up and down. He was left to get his face literally fucked, and the sad part was he had absolutely no problem with it. It made his cock harder knowing he had one in his mouth. Thankfully Paul was taking it slow, slow enough that after every thrust a pool of spit bubbles formed at the bottom of his shaft. And the boy made sure not to make John engulf his entire member, knowing his gag reflex was still incredibly sensitive. He lifted the guitarist up, and John had a string of spit connecting to his bottom lip. He was once again gasping, eyes almost crossed at how light headed he was and were visibly watery, and he looked at Paul with a pleading expression.   
“Fuck Paulie-”  
He moaned after catching his breath. The bassist pulled his face into a sloppy kiss, tasting himself on his tongue. Paul pulled away after exchanging spit, giggling at John’s helpless demeanor.  
“You’re a slag, you know that right? Taste like fucking cock-“  
Paul said, making John’s legs tremble. His face was flushed and hot, and Paul’s touch felt like ice on his cheeks. His mouth was still wide open and breathing heavily,  
“You’re making my jaw hurt like hell.”  
He grunted, looking up and seeing Paul’s eyes darken. He could tell the boy was enjoying the hell out of this. And John couldn’t entirely say he himself wasn’t either, but in the moment he only knew it was making his cock hard.   
“Oh, I know I am. Took me a while to build up a strong jaw.”  
Paul smirked, letting him take a small break. John was still stroking him, not wanting the mood to lighten in the slightest.   
“I don’t know if I can.”  
John lied, knowing Paul will laugh at him. He wanted the boy to laugh at him, it just made everything better. Paul gave him an insincere sympathetic look.  
“Poor Johnny, your jaw hurt too bad love?”  
He teased, hand cupping John’s face. Paul’s fingers gently rubbed John’s jaw, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. John knew that look well, a face of taunting pity.   
“Don’t look at me like that.”  
He whined, pleading because the look was too much for his body to take. the end of his sentence came out high pitched because Paul squeezed his face so he would open his mouth.   
“Open wide, darling. Break times over.”  
He told him, putting his hands on either side of John’s head again.   
“Paulie- Mmph!”  
His mouth was filled. The pace was picked up a bit, and they both were moaning messes. Paul loved how John swirled his cock like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever put into his mouth, and John loved how every once in a while he’d get a little pre cum mixed in with his own saliva. Bubbles were still forming around Paul’s base, and each time John was pulled up they were slurped along with him. Paul was fucking faster, still making sure not to go too deep. But when he saw John was getting the hang on it, he grabbed the back of his head and plunged his cock all the way down John’s throat. It was rude. It was inconsiderate. And it also made John almost throw up all the liquor they just drank. He started slapping Paul’s thighs, pleading to be let up. When Paul finally let go, John jumped up, a loud disgusting gag following suit. He was gasping, holding his neck as he collected himself.  
“What the hell Paul?!”  
He shouted, voice breaking from a sore throat. Paul only snickered, sitting up to face the man better. He looked like a completely different person, eyes wicked and mischievous. His hand went to John’s throat, meeting up with the man's own hand. John grabbed Paul’s wrist, eyes going frantic as he felt the bassists grip tighten. He wasn’t afraid he was in danger, he was afraid he liked this new Paul so much he might actually make him cum. Not without touch obviously, but he was so aroused he knew if Paul even stroked him he would be done for. The handle of his neck made it worse.   
“Was that too much for you, baby boy?”  
Paul muttered, pulling John closer. The man took whatever Paul threw at him, and Paul was ready to test how far he could go with his friend. Paul gently kissed his cheek, and reeled up and spit on his face. It landed between John’s eyes, and the man scoffed.   
“Fucking spit on me?!”  
He gasped through Paul’s grip. It was a bit much a first, John genuinely getting frustrated. But after Paul gave him a special look it all made sense.  
“Yeah, I did. What are you going to do about it?”  
Paul said, making it known this was the most degrading thing he could do, for now anyway. And the realization went to John’s legs, but he wouldn’t take it without a fight. He was stubborn in that way. He swirled around his spit, hacking it on Paul’s face and watching it drip down his cheek. Paul’s eyes went wild, letting go of his neck and wiping it away. He looked at the substance for a moment as it was pooling over his fingers. John just watched, feeling electricity in the air knowing Paul was going to do something to top him. And when Paul’s brown eyes shot down to him, John almost jumped. A smirk clear on his face, Paul drew his hand back and slapped John across the face. The crack was loud, and slick due to the spit that connected to the man’s cheek that was soon to be bright red. John felt his head snap to the opposite side because of the forceful hit, eyes full of questions. Paul was immediately regretful, face falling as he watched and waited for John’s reaction. It was quiet for a moment, heavy breathing filling the room. John slowly turned his head to face Paul, with wide and excited eyes. He was put in his place. And it made him feel something he didn’t understand. But he craved Paul’s touch even more knowing how mean he could be. Paul saw the hungry look in his eyes, and felt a wave of relief wash over him. Paul grabbed him roughly by the hair, John whimpering as he did so. They were pulled back into a hot sticky kiss. Paul was close to being to his peak, but he didn’t want to interrupt tasting John’s sweet tongue. After he felt himself tremble, he finally pulled John up.   
“Get down.”  
He ordered, no sweetness, or sugar coated words like Paul usually offered. He was hard. Stern. Exactly what a mouthy John Lennon needed. And John listened to him, lowering himself to suck eagerly on Paul’s cock. He wasn’t going to take long now, so he just relished in John’s new found skill. He still needed some work though, feeling him accidentally grind his teeth on his tip here and there, but Paul was so far gone now he barely even felt it.   
“John- Fuck Johnny-”  
He exclaimed, pulling John up. He wouldn’t make John swallow on his first time. But he came harder watching John’s tongue still pressed against his head. His cum shot up, hitting John’s nose and almost his eyes. John looked at him while he did, eyes scrunched and cheeks blood red. His slicked back hair was stuck to his forehead, sweat built up and glistening. It was a beautiful sight. And Paul’s stress melted away. He relaxed into the uncomfortable chair, catching his breath. Paul held John’s cheek, not forgetting him while he came down from his high the orgasm gave him.   
“Oh God, thank you. Thank you so much.”  
Paul said through pants. John sat between his legs, leaning against his hand like an obedient puppy.   
“And I’m sorry if I got a little intense there, I know you like dealing it, not really receiving it. Fuck, I really needed that though.”  
Paul’s breath finally relaxed, and he looked at John. His face was still covered. Paul burst out laughing, not a cruel *sexual humiliation* laugh. Just a friendly, genuine laugh. Paul was back to normal. John just sat, still painfully hard between his legs. Paul’s laughter faded, and he looked at the man who was still on his knees. His breath was shallow, and now Paul cocked a brow quizzically.   
“Sorry I came all over your face, I think I’ve got some napkins in my jacket pocket-”  
Paul reassured. John didn’t know how to tell him. He was infuriated with himself. But his cock wouldn’t shut up, so he looked at the ground. And muttered something Paul could barely hear. And what he did, he didn’t believe. He sat up from his chair.   
“What was that, dear?”  
He asked. John’s eyes darted up to him, back to the ground. His hands tightly held his knees to keep them from shaking.   
“Keep teasing me!”  
He said. Paul’s mouth dropped, and he zipped up his pants. He chuckled a bit.   
“Get up love, sit on the chair.”  
He told him, buckling his belt back. John didn’t talk back, for once in his life. He got up, wordlessly, and sat down the same way. Paul liked John this way.   
“Look who’s being good. You seem a bit sad to be getting off those knees of yours.”   
Paul smiled. John’s thoughts went into zig zags, looking at Paul and feeling himself grow flushed. He thought of remark after remark, but he kept his mouth shut. Paul scooted his chair closer, so John was easily accessible. He snapped his fingers,   
“Cat got your tongue, dear? Feel free to join the conversation.”   
John rolled his eyes,  
“I’m not sad, you fucking spit on me.”  
He sassed. He physically couldn’t help it. A part of him desperately craved to be put back in his place over and over again.   
“Yeah, but you’re not doing anything to wipe it off are you? Not to mention my fucking jizz is covering you as well, love.”   
Paul giggled sinisterly, making John blush. The boy eyed his friend, his composure was stiff and nervous. The bassist tsked, crossing his arms with a cocked brow. John’s lip quivered, feeling Paul’s eyes undress him. He wished he had something to clean off his face, if he was being honest. Sitting there with cum dripping down your cheek was incredibly embarrassing, not to mention the man who gave you the face full of cum was looking you up and down.   
“I'd have it off by now, but I can’t exactly use my shirt as a cum rag can I?”   
John remarked. Paul shook his head, eyes softened a bit.   
“No, of course not. Wouldn’t expect you too.”   
He said simply. But Paul raised a hand, and brought it to the guitarist's face. John watched as calloused fingers picked up globs of cum.   
“Thanks for the half assed help, but there’s a lot more than that-”  
John smirked, mouth soon filled *mid sentence* with Paul’s fingers that were drenched with the gooey mess. His face scrunched in distaste, pulling back to get away. But Paul was persistent. He shook his head,  
“No no no, Johnny boy. Clean up the mess like a good boy.”  
He told him. John wordlessly started to suck on Paul’s fingers. Taste of the salty mess quickly going down his throat, little moans escaping his mouth here and there. He was a sarcastic brat, but he desperately wanted to be a good boy. Paul quickly popped his fingers out of John’s mouth, seeing his eyes go glazed.   
“Good boy, Johnny.”  
Paul praised. John openly moaned at the words, arms going between his legs to keep his unbearably tight swell behind his zipper a little secret. But Paul was all knowing of the state of John’s cock, sopping up the last little bit of cum and spit in his hand and shoving it back in his mouth. John didn’t resist, and he didn’t talk back. He sucked the mess off of every finger, with an excited tongue. Paul lowly groaned at the man's mouth, watching the display with dark eyes. He was watching John slowly melt, his helplessness becoming even more prominent. Paul snatched his hand away again,   
“We can make an obedient boy out of you, yet.”   
He murmured, holding the guitarist's face. But Paul’s hand slowly started venturing down, trailing along John’s chest. Then stomach, and stopping where John’s wrists met between his legs. Paul’s eyes lowered, taking John’s right wrist in hand and splitting them up. He gazed at the bulbous hard on, palming it through the painful zipper.   
“Please Paulie, I try to be good.”  
John jumbled out, legs going into frantic spasms. Paul scoffed at his sentence, squeezing the man's crotch cruelly. John leaped up, a shocked exclamation bursting from his lips.   
“Lie to me again and I squeeze harder. You do everything you can just to frustrate me, Lennon.”  
Paul said sinisterly, unbuttoning the man’s pants and pulling down the zipper. John’s cock stuck out with prominence, impressively puffy and red. Paul smirked, sticking his tongue out and letting a pool of spit that was accumulated drip on John’s heated prick. The hot saliva made the man’s eyes squeeze shut, mouth gaping open but his expression was followed by silence. Paul held his hand up to John’s mouth, and he quickly spit in his palm. John knew the boy's words were right, and it made his cock leak as he began to stroke him. Paul desperately wanted to taste him, but he refused to. This was about humiliating John, and he was definitely going to succeed.   
“You’re going to cum, baby. But you’re gonna have to beg for it.”  
Paul told him, swirling the pre cum around John’s tip. John gripped onto the leather of Paul’s jacket, pulling him closer as hushed groans were heard. He was overcome with the stimulation, even though it was technically just Paul’s hand. It was everything that went along with the hand job as well, the teases. The cum eating. The slap to the face, that still had his cheek warm and red. All of it made him helpless, and needy. Paul felt with every stroke, his body quiver pathetically. It was a new side of the guitarists he’s never seen before. And, it was a new feeling within himself he was realizing. It made the bassist not want to waste a second, so he slowed down the pace on the man’s shaft. John’s breath hitched, head lifting to look at Paul. He was searching for why he slowed, but all he saw was a sinister look that sent a wave of arousal through his body.   
“Don’t be cruel.”  
He begged him. Paul smirked, loosening his hand on his cock. John could hardly feel his touch, basically just the warmth of his palm. But Paul still stroked, John barely able to feel the texture of his skin grazing his throbbing dick. Paul leaned close, mouth torturously brushing against John’s ear. The heat from the bassist's cheek made John’s face flush, and he buried his face into Paul’s neck.   
“Get in my lap-”  
Paul commanded, pulling the man by his thighs. John was quite a bit heavier than him, so it took a lot of strength. But he succeeded with grace, and John’s thick thighs straddled him. John glanced down, feeling for once in his life like he was light and weightless. He saw that Paul was already tightening his jeans once again, and he felt his cock surge with arousal at the knowledge that he had done that to him. He himself, and his body, made Paul’s cock rock hard again in the matter of minutes. John’s hands instantly went to Paul’s zipper, and the boy was taken aback.   
“John?”  
He said in almost a whisper, watching John take out his cock. His persona was gone almost, all that was left was two touch starved young men. John grinded his hips down, making their middles touch. Paul’s eyes rolled, feeling the throbbing of both their dick’s and involuntarily thrusting against John’s. He took a hand and gripped both of them together, lack of lube being a bit of a problem. But like he read his mind, John opened his mouth and dropped a long spit line onto both of their cocks. Paul vocalized his gratitude with a low moan, stroking the both of them quickly. John helped by thrusting into his hand, desperately hugging his neck and pathetically whimpering with each stroke. Paul loved seeing John so needy and compliant, and his own cock was leaking as a result. So many years of John being a problem child, picking fights with anyone who will humor him. Including Paul. It was immensely gratifying to be the only one to make him a helpless begging boy.  
“You needed this didn’t you? A reminder that I, no matter what, can shut that filthy mouth of yours up.”  
Paul teased, picking up the pace on their cocks. He could feel the man’s body tense up, head violently shaking yes in the creek of his neck. His thighs suddenly stopped thrusting, and he sat up abruptly. Paul watched as he came, his eyes were closed calmly. Mouth was agape, and his cum was quickly used as lube for Paul, who’s climax wasn’t far behind due to the orgasmic view of John. He was incredibly sexy, face sweetly flushed and glazed. Paul craved the taste of him, and who knew the next perfect opportunity they would get.   
“Kiss me John- kiss me!”  
He begged through heated breaths. John didn’t need to be convinced, he melted down into the warmth of his embrace. Mouths merging like perfect puzzle pieces. Paul came right as he tasted his tongue, the mess puddling in their laps. They rode the high of orgasm by swapping spit. It was addictive. Well, when it came to each other anyway. They didn’t feel attachments to anyone other than one another. It was like they were glued hip to hip, mentally, physically. And intellectually. John lifted from the boy's mouth, collapsing into his neck once again. They took a few minutes to catch their breath, feeling relaxed and simultaneously exhausted.   
“Fuck, I’m tired.”  
John mumbled, hugging Paul close and getting comfortable as if he might fall asleep. Paul patted his back, smiling despite the anxiety of being in a room where in all actuality anyone could walk in at any time.  
“Johnny we’ve got to go back up to the room, we’ve had our fun.”  
He told him. Paul always seemed to be the responsible one. John lazily sat up, hair in a bundled up mess. He scooted off of Paul and onto his own chair. They both examined the state of their cocks, covered in spit and cum. Paul fumble in his jacket pockets, only finding an old crumpled up napkin from goodness knows how long ago. They gazed between each other’s legs, ideas churning to find a solution.   
“Stand up.”  
Paul told him. John scoffed, rolling his eyes.  
“Why have I got too?”  
Paul just cocked a brow, giving him a certain look that he knew would get him moving. It worked, and Lennon was quick onto his feet. Paul still sat, perfect eye level with the cum covered organ. He began to lick, and clean with his mouth. You could say he didn’t have a choice, but in all reality he just loved doing it. John watched him, the sight earning a devious smirk that spread on his face. When Paul was done, he looked up to see it. He stood up and patted John’s shoulders.  
“Your turn.”   
He said cheekily, seeing the smirk quickly disappear. John scoffed, but didn’t protest. He sat down and cleaned the man’s cock with his mouth. He acted like it was a chore. He made it a point to give the impression that he genuinely found it disgusting. He made faces. He even did it quickly to get it over with. But he couldn’t fake the fact it made him go fuzzy in the head. He would never say it, willingly anyway. They both zipped up their pants, and grabbed the liquor bottles. John took a swig just to wet the back of his dry throat. He offered it to Paul, he politely declined with a shake of a head as he finished buttoning his pants. It was a comfortable silence, and Paul watched John walk over to their long forgotten instruments still sitting next to the locked doors. His hips were swaying, and he looked shamelessly. He walked over to where John was, taking a hand and groping at John’s swell of an ass. The man giggled, turning around to see Paul.  
“Getting it all out of our system before we have to go back to the real world, are we?”   
He asked. Paul shook his head, kissing his cheek before they both grabbed their instruments and began the small journey back to the hotel room. And while they did Paul felt a tinge of hurt through his chest, regarding John’s last sentence to him. Back to the real world? The words ran through his mind, and it became apparent that this weird affair unfortunately wasn’t real. It was, logically, just a temporary fantasy. And it was devastating to realize that no matter how real it felt between them, they could never let anyone know.  
///////////////  
George had been up for a little less than an hour. He went back to sleep after the ruckus of Paul’s nightmare for maybe forty five minutes, but he awoke when the sun came crashing in. He felt sick, his stomach aching. And his head felt like two hands were crushing his skull. The light from the window made everything ten times worse. He sat up, arms hugging his stomach. He felt his mouth get covered with saliva, sickness in his stomach becoming more painful. His eyes widened, and his body went into a frantic run to the sink that was in the corner of the room. No one used it, unless for water. He emptied his stomach into it, his hands gripping the sides of the off white glass in an attempt to steady himself. He was hungover. And dreadfully paying for it. He sat up from the disgusting vomit, resting his head on the cool brick wall that temporarily made his burning head calm down.   
“Fuckin’ gross man.”  
Pete mumbled from the couch. Stuart sat up from the bed the two were just sharing.   
“Yeah, how are we gonna clean that?”   
He asked, sleep still evident in his tone. George groaned out of annoyance,  
“How the fuck would I know?!”  
He huffed, plopping back down on the bed face first, to ignore the sun. His other two band mates chucked to themselves, and Stuart patted his back.   
“It’s alright George-”  
He fought back giggles. Pete laid back down, but Stuart decided to stay up with the sick lad.  
“Did you happen to catch where John n Paul went?”  
He asked. George turned his head to him, eyes still shut.   
“They were gone when I woke up, I haven’t a clue.”  
He explained. Stuart crossed his arms, and thought for a moment.   
“Well would anyone care to accompany me to some breakie? We haven’t been up in time for that in day’s.”   
He looked to both of his mates. Pete was fast asleep already, and George was a pale mess.  
“Please don’t even talk about food, or I’ll blow chunks fucking everywhere.”  
He begged. Stuart rolled his eyes, getting up from his spot. George opened his eyes just a bit, looking at Stuart who was putting on his clothes and gathering the rest of his dirty laundry.  
“Going alone?”  
He asked. Stuart shook his head, throwing his travel back across his shoulder.   
“Astrid said I could use her washer today, so it’s laundry day for me.”  
He said. Before he left the sick boy, he looked at the huge pile of discarded dirty clothes the whole band had accumulated. It had been weeks since any of them had washed any clothes.   
“I suggest when John n Paul get back you all come over, we could all use a good cleaning day.”   
He said. George sat up, and watched Stuart leave. Admittedly, this wasn’t how the day was supposed to be going. John had gone on and on the night before about how they needed to go around the city, looking for potential places to perform. Considering the fact that their time at the hotel was coming to an end, they needed to find new work. George’s eyes scrunched, holding his stomach in increasing agony. He fell over, getting comfortable in the pillows and blankets. He was so indifferent to anything at the moment, he didn’t even flinch when John and Paul came crashing in the room. They looked disheveled, and fatigued. John’s sight glazed over George and he cocked a brow.   
“What’s wrong with you?”  
He asked, voice annoyed. He hadn’t been the nicest to George since he learned about his friendship with Ringo. Paul cringed at John’s harsh words, taking his jacket off. He decided to lighten the tone quickly,  
“We saw Stuart out, are we going to join him later at Astrid’s?”  
Paul asked the hungover lad while waking Pete up. He groggily got up, and Paul sat beside him when he did. John still stood, smelling a sickening aroma fluttering through the air. John took longer, deeper sniffs. His face twisted into a disgusted look,  
“What is that?!”  
He exclaimed, putting a hand over his nose. Pete smirked, gesturing over to the sink.   
“George has had a bad morning.”  
He explained with a jesting tone. John’s eyes darted over to the sink, taking a few steps to properly see. He quickly snarled his nose at the disgusting contents within it, eyes then going to George.  
“Why the hell didn’t you just do it out the window?!”  
He yelled. George groaned, grabbing a pillow and covering his head with it. John had made it a point to be particularly mean, so he didn’t let the boy get off that easily.   
“George, come clean it out of the bloody sink! It smells like rotted food!”  
He demanded. George’s body scrunched at the man’s voice, as it went straight to his throbbing head. Paul wasn’t going to stand John being so unreasonable, so he stood.  
“John I’ll clean it, since George is obviously sick..”  
He said, making his way to the sink. Pete crossed his arms, agreeing with Paul. Things had been a bit awkward since John and George had been arguing so much.   
“If you turn on the water, it should go down Paul.”  
He told him, but he watched John grab his shoulder before he could begin to clean up.  
“No, Macca! It’s his mess, he should clean it up.”  
He stated. In any other circumstance, Paul would agree. But George was clearly too ill to perform any task, and he needed to rest up in order to actually perform tonight at the concert. Paul gave John a piercing look, shoving his hand away.   
“Look at him! He can hardly stand all this shouting, let alone stand at all! He needs to rest so he can be a functioning human being for the show tonight!”   
Paul corrected. John wouldn’t budge though, he made sure to shout even louder back   
“He should have thought about how fucking sick he was before deciding to vomit all in the only sink we fucking have-“  
George finally couldn’t take any more. He shot up, throwing the pillow to the side of him. Everyone’s eyes went to the frustrated boy whose face was so pale you could mistake him for a corpse. George was on the verge of yelling, but he kept his voice somewhat calm. While simultaneously it oozed with pure anger.   
“I’ll clean it, for the love of God I’ll clean it! But Johnny before you think I’m even getting up from this bed, you’re going to get me some aspirin.”  
He told him. John went wild, furious he would talk back to him in such a way.  
“Excuse me?! Where the bloody hell do you expect me to get aspirin? At the damn market almost three blocks away? I don’t think you’re hungover son, you’re still fucking wasted.”  
John said. Paul stood next to John, frustrated at his childish behavior. Pete was just watching like it was a stupid play they were putting on, and he had a front row seat. George smirked,  
“Ringo. Go to his room and tell him George is having the worst morning of his life and is in desperate need of a fucking aspirin. Or ibuprofen. Or literally anything. He’s got a whole medicine cabinet full of shit, surly there’s something to help.”  
He told him. John felt pure rage, and it was clear as his face went red. Paul stepped in, quickly grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward the door. John protested by trying to get away, but Paul turned the knob and threw him into the hallway, knowing that if he didn’t this idiotic argument would last for hours. He looked into George’s eyes that had dark circles surrounding them. He gave him a wink,   
“I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior.”  
He said before closing the door behind him.


End file.
